The Beginning
by featherless-wings
Summary: Prequel to 'Always and Forever'. Mike and Micky battle with their feelings for each other.
1. Chapter 1

**February 1969**.

Mike had been living with Micky for the past 4 months since the breakdown of his marriage. His wife and their two young sons had recently moved out of the house they once shared with Mike, but Mike was in no hurry to move home. Instead, he was having the entire house re-modelled. While it would've been easier for him to buy somewhere new (it's not as if he couldn't afford it), he loved his house and it's location. However, he was having it gutted and "starting again" in his attempt at erasing the memories of all that went on there; the rows, and the hurt he caused his wife with his cheating ways.

When Phyllis announced her and Mike's marriage was over, Mike fled to Texas for a month before returning home in an attempt to build bridges. When that failed, Micky was kind enough to offer Mike somewhere to stay for the foreseeable future. It was no bother to Micky; he had a huge house and he liked the company. Not that Mike was the best company in the world.

In fact, recently things were beginning to become strained. Micky annoyed Mike; Mike annoyed Micky.

Micky had a couple of buddies over early one evening. Peter, who had left the band a few months previous, was back in the city for the weekend, and Micky was keen to have a catch-up. Davy also joined them, as although Peter had left the band, there was no ill-feeling between them.

They were sat in "The Den", an average sized room filled with faux-fur rugs, pillows, scented candles, incense and other random pieces of hippy memorabilia. This was a room Micky designed in which to relax, a place to chill out, smoke some weed, and enjoy good company.

Mike wandered past the doorway to The Den after returning home from one of his long drives.

"Hey! Come join us." Micky called through.

Mike paused in the doorway, looking into the room at Peter, who he hadn't seen in months, and Davy, who were both just staring at him.

"No thanks." Mike replied bluntly before walking off.

Micky rolled his eyes.

"Charming as ever, I see." Peter said sarcastically, taking a hit of his joint.

"I don't know how you put up with him." Davy added. "He's a right miserable sod."

"Hey come on now, give him a break." Micky responded in Mike's defence. "He's having a hard time."

"And whose fault is that?" Davy asked. "It's about time he got over it."

"You know he still hasn't seen that kid of his." Peter added, shaking his head. "I spoke to Nurit before, he hasn't even been in contact with her."

"Well it can't be easy." Micky said, finishing up his joint. "I don't even dare try talking to him about it. He's so weird; he doesn't really talk about anything."

"He needs to get a grip." Davy said, unsympathetic. "And he's so bloody rude."

"Not all the time." Micky replied. "And he pulls his weight around the house. He's alright sometimes."

Peter scoffed. "Sure, I believe that."

"He is!" Micky protested. "Look, I'll get him to join us. Maybe if he has a smoke he'll relax a bit."

Micky got up, making his way out of the room. He found Mike in the kitchen, sitting at the large table, reading a magazine about cars or something like that.

"Hey, you should join us," Micky begun, causing Mike to look up. "Peter's got some seriously weird records, like some real psychedelic stuff, I really think you'd dig it."

"I'm fine here, thanks." Mike replied, looking back at his magazine.

"Come on, man." Micky sighed. "Have a smoke, I've got some good stuff, it'll do you good."

"I'd really rather not." Mike responded, not looking at Micky.

"You haven't seen Peter in months though. He's only in town for a while." Micky protested.

"Micky, I ain't interested." Mike said, getting frustrated. "Go back to your friends and leave me alone."

"They're your friends too." Micky argued. Mike ignored him. "Fine, whatever. Please yourself."

Peter and Davy didn't stay late; Peter had other friends to catch-up with, and Davy had a date with his girlfriend Linda.

It wasn't often Micky had nights in. He was always at some party or another, or some club or bar, or maybe seeing a band. Mike was often irritated by Micky's lifestyle, although he was unsure why. He was always annoyed hearing Micky stumble home drunk at 3, 4, or 5 in the morning - and sometimes even later than that. It irked him. It wound him up. It got under his skin. He was especially annoyed when Micky brought girls back, and that happened fairly often too. Micky was far from quiet, and neither were the girls he took home.

Mike didn't like it. In fact, he hated it. And instead of getting used to it as time went on, it actually bugged him more and more. Maybe he was jealous that Micky could be so carefree; Micky had no responsibilities. He didn't have anyone judging him, and he didn't have to answer to anyone.

Mike's life was different. He was technically still married. He had two sons...well, he had _three_ sons. The love-child he fathered with another woman was something he tried to sweep under the carpet. He resented himself for hurting his wife, for betraying her, for breaking her heart. He was ashamed, and he spent every waking moment trying to understand why he did what he did.

And then there was Micky, without a care in the world. Yeah, that's right; Mike _was_ jealous. Jealous that Micky was so free. Micky, everyone's best friend, always the life and soul of the party. A good guy. In fact, a great guy. Everyone liked Micky. What wasn't to like? He was funny, he was entertaining, and he would bend over backwards for any of his friends. He was so nice offering Mike to stay with him. Micky didn't seem to judge Mike. Micky didn't seem to think Mike was an asshole, not like everyone else did. Perfect Micky. Perfect, annoying Micky.

But Micky was starting to lose his patience with Mike. Mike kept himself to himself, which was fine. Except that was starting to bug Micky as much as Micky's partying annoyed Mike. It frustrated Micky. He wanted Mike to join in when he threw parties or had friends over. He wanted Mike to talk about his troubles - he wanted to know what Mike was thinking. He didn't know why, but he was strangely fascinated by Mike; He always had been. Mike was nothing like Micky. Micky wore his heart on his sleeve; if he was in a bad mood, everyone would know why. Mike wasn't like that, and Micky couldn't understand it. He could see Mike was facing some sort of inner battle, and he wanted to understand it. He wanted to get inside Mike's head.

Later that evening, Mike was still sitting at the kitchen table, reading the same car magazine. Micky walked in, and went straight for the refrigerator.

"You want a Coke?" Micky asked, pulling out a can for himself.

Mike looked up. "Sure." He replied. Micky chucked him a can, which Mike caught. "Thanks." He went back to his magazine again.

Micky cracked open his can, and sipped it. He stood there, watching Mike. Mike, who was staring at the magazine in front of him, yet his eyes didn't seem to be moving.

After maybe 10 seconds or so, Mike looked up, feeling Micky watching him. He felt uneasy as he looked at his friend. "What?" He asked defensively.

"Nothing." Micky answered, taking another sip of his Coke.

Mike went back to his magazine, but Micky carried on watching him. Mike could still feel Micky looking at him, and he started to feel incredibly uncomfortable.

He looked up again. "What are you lookin' at?" He snapped.

"I'm just wondering how you can read the same magazine for like, three hours." Micky said casually. "That's the same magazine you were reading earlier."

"So?" Mike asked defensively. "It ain't illegal, is it?"

"No, it's just weird, that's all." Micky leaned against the refrigerator, sipping on his Coke.

Mike once again went back to his magazine. Micky couldn't help himself; he carried on watching Mike.

Mike knew Micky was watching him, and as much as it was weirding him out, he decided to ignore it. Micky was like a child, Mike thought, and the best way to handle him was to simply ignore him.

"What ya reading?" Micky asked after 30 seconds of silence.

Mike slammed the magazine down on the table, looking at Micky in annoyance. "Ain't you going out tonight or somethin'?"

"Nope, not tonight." Micky shrugged.

"Make's a change..." Mike muttered.

"You didn't answer my question." Micky continued.

Mike took a deep breath. "Can't you leave me in peace, boy?"

Micky could tell he was winding Mike up, but he couldn't help himself. "I was just trying to make conversation."

"Well I don't want conversation, I want to read my goddamn magazine in peace." Mike snapped. "Ain't you got some party to go to or some blond to fuck?"

"I told you, I'm staying in tonight." Micky answered, cool as a cucumber. "I thought we could hang out."

"Why?" Mike asked, exasperated.

"Because we never hang out." Micky replied, almost sadly. He snapped himself out of it though. "I've got some really good weed."

"Well you go smoke it then." Mike told him. He was getting worked up, but he wasn't sure why.

Micky sighed, almost defeated. But he wasn't about to give up yet.

"Peter said he'd seen Nurit." Micky begun a little cautiously, knowing this could be a seriously bad move.

Mike's head snapped up, and anger filled his brown eyes. Micky knew he was on shaky ground.

"She says you still haven't been in touch with her, you know, about the baby..." Micky continued. He was nervous, but he had a habit of saying the things that other people wouldn't dare say.

Mike rose to his feet. "That ain't none of you damn business."

"Look, man, I'm only trying to-"

"Save it." Mike walked right up to Micky and stared him straight in the eye. "I mean it. Stay out of it."

Micky stared back at Mike, and it was almost as if Mike's facade started to slip.

Mike broke their gaze, and went to leave the room.

"It's not just going to go away, you know." Micky carried on. Mike stopped in his tracks, his back still to Micky. "I just think if you talked about it, I don't know, it might help."

Micky looked nervously at Mike's back. He was absolutely still. Micky could visibly see Mike take a deep breath, obviously trying to keep his temper in check.

Mike turned to face Micky. He looked angry, but not as angry as Micky feared. "Stay out of it, Micky." He said calmly.

"Come on man, I'm just trying to help." Micky sighed.

"I don't need your help." Mike snapped. "I don't need anything from you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Micky asked, a look of confusion on his boyish face.

Mike started to panic. "Why don't you give me a break, huh?" His voice raised in volume. "You're like a goddamn child, you know that? All your stupid questions, do you know how fucking annoying that is? I was minding my own business, trying to read a goddamn magazine, and you start going on at me, going on and on and on...why won't you just shut up for once?"

Micky was slightly taken aback, but Micky being Micky wasn't about to drop it. "I wanna help." He replied almost sheepishly.

"What makes you think you could help?" Mike's face was screwed up, as if he was completely bewildered by Micky thinking he could be of any help to anyone. "What do you know about anything? You just fuck around, get drunk, do whatever the fuck you want. You're a stupid kid, you have no idea about real-life, responsibilities, real grown-up shit. You ain't been married, you ain't got kids. You don't know what it's like to have a hard time, you've had it easy your whole goddamn life! What makes you think you could help anyone?"

Micky was sensitive, but it wasn't often he was genuinely hurt by something someone said. This time though, for some reason, Micky was hurt.

"You're right." Micky replied, almost matter-of-factly. "What do I know about anything? I _have_ always had it easy. I mean, losing my dad when I was 17, that was easy. Hearing my mom and my little sisters crying themselves to sleep every night, that was easy. My whole life has been a total blast, I don't know anything about real-shit. So just fucking ignore me."

Guilt smacked into Mike like a freight-train. He felt awful. "Micky, I-"

"You know what, fuck you." Micky snapped, slamming his can of Coke on the counter. "Everyone's right about you. I always say, "hey, Mike's not so bad", but it's bullshit, because you're a fucking asshole."

Mike put his hand to his head, rubbing his left eye as if he had a splitting headache. He had rarely seen Micky angry, and he didn't like it. He didn't like being the cause of it. Micky's soft features, those almond shaped eyes looked all wrong. They were filled with anger, and laced with sadness. Mike had made him sad. Micky was never sad; he was always happy. Mike felt a mixture of emotions in the pit of his stomach, and it spooked him. He felt spooked by the whole situation. It was bizarre. It made him feel deeply uneasy. He wanted to apologise, but he didn't know how.

Before he knew it, Micky had walked out. Mike just stood there, taken aback. Micky could get fiery when he felt deeply about something, and that's what shook Mike even more: that Micky had obviously felt deeply about Mike's situation. Micky had cared enough to get involved, to try and help, even though he knew he'd probably get shit for it. And he had gotten shit for it. Mike had given Micky shit for trying to be a friend, for trying to do what nobody else bothered to do; for trying to _help_ him.


	2. Chapter 2

A couple of hours passed. Micky's house was large enough for he and Mike to avoid each other - they generally kept out of each other's way anyway. They hadn't seen each other since their little spat earlier, and Mike figured it was about time he went looking for Micky.

Mike felt absolutely terrible. He and Micky had had minor arguments before; they'd had a few spats back in the days of shooting the show, or in the recording studio, but they were normally fuelled by tiredness and stress, and whatever substances they had been smoking at the time, and were usually forgotten as soon as they had begun. Mike knew Micky could be a nag, and Micky certainly never knew when to shut up or just leave things be. As annoying as it was, Mike had always found it somewhat endearing, and he felt guilty that he'd attacked Micky like that. It was unfair and uncalled for.

Mike viewed Micky as an annoying little brother, but he'd always had this unexplainable urge to look out for him. Micky could be a loose-cannon; he was always the one to drink a little more than he should, or do a few more drugs than he should. Micky was the one to climb higher than everyone else, and Mike was the big brother shouting at him to come down. There had been several times since they had lived together that Mike had helped Micky to bed, or at least to the couch, after he staggered home drunk after a wild night. And there had even been a few times where Micky was so wasted he threw up on the floor; and instead of Mike leaving it for Micky to deal with in the morning, Mike would clean it up without a second thought. Micky would have no recollection of it in the morning, and Mike wouldn't mention it. He never really knew why he did that. If it was anyone else, he certainly wouldn't bother - he would leave them to clean up their own mess, literally and metephorically. But with Micky, for some reason, it was different.

Mike found Micky sitting outside, at the back of the house, on a small bench that overlooked his swimming pool. He was smoking a joint.

Mike sat down next to him. He gestured to the joint in Micky's hand. "Do you mind?"

Micky looked at him for a second, before handing him the joint. Mike took a drag, blowing the smoke into the cool night air.

Mike looked out over the pool, which was glistening in the light from the moon. It was about 11pm, and everything was perfectly still and quiet apart from the sound of a few crickets in the distance.

Mike sighed deeply. "You're right, you know." He said. Micky looked at him, while Mike stared straight ahead. "I am an asshole."

Micky was silent for a little while. "Or maybe you just do a good impression of one."

Mike looked at him, strangely moved by that assessment. Micky looked up, and Mike handed the joint back to him before looking out over the pool once more.

"I didn't mean to say what I said to you. It came out all wrong. It weren't fair."

"Forget it." Micky said, taking a drag and looking ahead.

"I just mean...like...you don't have to answer to no one." Mike continued awkwardly. He hated having to apologise, and he didn't enjoy Deep and Meaningful's either. "You ain't got kids, or a wife. You don't know what it's like to fuck everything up."

"Then why did you?" Micky asked.

Mike was confused. "Why did I what?" He looked at Micky.

"Why did you fuck everything up?" Micky asked again, turning to look straight at Mike.

"_This boy has got balls, I'll give him that_." Mike thought.

Mike opened his mouth to speak, but nothing seemed to come out.

"I mean, I don't get it," Micky continued. "If you loved her so much, why did you cheat on her? I know I'm no one to talk, I mean, I broke up with Sam because I knew I was going to cheat on her. But I figured, I couldn't love her properly, not like I should, if I thought I was going to cheat on her. And I would have cheated on her, so that's why I dumped her. So why did you cheat on Phyllis?"

Mike was stunned that Micky had asked the question he had asked himself so many times. While he had finally been able to answer himself, he had never said anything aloud. Mike hadn't spoken to anyone about the demise of his marriage - that just wasn't his style. He was brought up almost single-handedly by his mother, who was a strong, stern woman who wasn't a big talker herself.

But here he was now, beside this almost fearless boy who wasn't afraid to ask the questions no one else dared ask. Micky looked at Mike eagerly. Mike felt somewhat exposed, vulnerable almost, and he knew if anyone else had asked that question he would've run a mile.

"I... I was looking for something." Mike responded after a long pause.

"Sex?" Micky questioned nonchalant.

"No. No, no, it wasn't like that." Mike shook his head, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. "I don't know...something was missing."

"In your marriage?" Micky wondered. He was staring at Mike intently, as if he was listening to his greatest hero tell some fascinating story.

Mike nodded. He sighed sadly, almost defeated. "Somethin' weren't right. It weren't complete... We were so young, we were just kids when she got pregnant and we got married. I just wanted to do the right thing, you know, by her, by our baby, by our families... Everyone told us we had to get married. I was just tryin' to do the right thing."

"But it wasn't the right thing by you." Micky stated carefully.

Mike looked at him. No one had ever asked him that before. Not once had anyone seemed to question whether Mike was happy within his marriage or not.

Mike shook his head in response, and looked away once again. "That ain't to say I regret anything. I love our son...both our kids. They're everything to me. I never wanted to hurt her, that ain't what I was trying to do." He took a deep breath. "I...I loved her. I still do. I will always love her, but..."

He trailed off, and Micky continued looking at him expectantly. Micky watched Mike with such intent that Mike almost felt like Micky was looking right into his soul. It threw him, it unsettled him...yet he found it strangely comforting at the same time. He had never off-loaded onto anyone. The closest he got to talking about his feelings was through his lyrics and his songs. This was a strange experience for Mike, letting someone in.

"I ain't_ in_ love with her." Mike finally said quietly, almost shamefully. "I don't think I ever was. I _know_ I never was."

Micky looked out over the pool. "I've never been in love." He admitted.

"But that ain't no excuse." Mike said firmly. "I ain't trying to make excuses for what I did to her. I still fucked things up. Getting her pregnant again, thinkin' another baby could paper over the cracks. There ain't no excuse for that shit. I am an asshole, Micky."

"No you're not." Micky sighed. "You've made mistakes, but you're not a bad person."

"I shouldn't be talking to you about this anyway." Mike said, figuring it was about time end the deep and meaningful.

"Why not?"

"This is all my own doin', all my own fault. I ain't got any right to moan about my problems - I brought 'em on myself." Mike rose to his feet. "You've got your own problems. Like what you said earlier, what you said about your dad. That ain't your fault, that ain't no one's fault."

"Well no, of course it was no one's fault - it was a heart-attack." Micky hit back, feeling slightly frustrated. "It's not a competition in whose life is more fucked up, Mike."

Mike looked to the ground, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Look, what exactly is your point?" Micky continued. "You think because my dad died that doesn't give you the right to talk to me about your problems?"

Mike looked up. "I don't need to talk to anyone about anything. I'm only saying this stuff 'cause you kept pushing me. Why are you so interested anyway?"

"Maybe because I give a shit?" Micky replied. "I know you like to think the whole world is against you, Mike, but it's really just the other way around."

Mike looked to the floor again. "Whatever." He muttered, feeling defeated.

Micky sighed deeply. "Losing my dad was horrible. It was the worst. But that doesn't mean your issues mean nothing."

"You never talk about your dad." Mike stated, looking at Micky.

"Sure I do, I mention him all the time." Micky frowned, feeling offended.

"No, no, I mean...you don't talk about him...dying." Mike started, desperate to change the subject.

"Well you don't talk about _anything_." Micky hit back.

Mike nodded, and actually let out a small laugh. "I deserved that."

"What's there to say anyway?" Micky asked. "He died of a heart-attack. It was a long time ago. The end."

Mike sat back down. "It wasn't _that_ long ago."

"Yeah well, it's fine." Micky assured him. "And stop trying to change the subject, we're not talking about me - we were talking about you."

Mike tensed up again. "I ain't got nothin' else to say."

"What about Nurit and the baby?" Micky asked him. "Pretending they don't exist isn't going to make them disappear."

"You think I don't know that?" Mike questioned. "Do you think this is all some big game to me?"

"I never said that." Micky replied. "But you have to do something about it. You can't seriously want that boy to grow up without a dad, because of what? Because you made a mistake?"

"It ain't that simple." Mike said quietly. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Maybe not, but what I do know is it's not that kid's fault that you fucked up." Micky said matter-of-factly. "So punishing him for your mistakes is just fucking selfish."

Mike glared at Micky, but Micky wore a defiant look. Mike's face softened, realising Micky was right. "You've got nerve saying that, boy."

"Yeah well there's no point dressing it up, is there?" Micky asked. "It's the truth and you know it."

"I've left it too long..." Mike said quietly after a long silence. "It's been 6 months, and I ain't even seen him."

"You can change that though." Micky said, reassuringly.

Mike shook his head. "No, it'll be best if I just leave it alone."

Micky sighed. "You grew up without your dad around, didn't you?" Mike simply looked at him. "And I haven't had my dad for the past six years. It sucks."

"That's totally different." Mike said defensively. "Me and my dad don't get along, we never really have. It ain't no loss to me, not having him in my life. Your dad was a great man."

Micky was slightly surprised by that comment. "You never met him." He said, puzzled.

"But I met you, and you turned out alright. And if you're anything like your father, which people always say you are, then he was obviously a _really_ great man." Mike admitted, the words sort of falling out of his mouth. He immediately felt embarrassed and in turn begun to feel rather flustered.

Micky was taken aback by Mike's words, and felt his own cheeks flush slightly. It's not like he wasn't used to compliments - people said nice things about him all the time. And it was true; people who knew Micky's father often said Micky was just like his dad, but hearing it from Mike was different. It wasn't as if Mike was never nice, because he could actually be incredibly charming when the mood struck him.

Micky looked at Mike, who then turned to look at Micky. They were each grateful for the darkness, unable to see that they were each blushing. Micky certainly wasn't one to embarrass easy, but for some reason he was incredibly flattered by Mike's remark.

Mike could sense the younger-man's surprise at his words, and when he looked into Micky's almond-shaped eyes it was as if he looked genuinely touched.

Mike figured this awkward moment had gone on long enough, and he cleared his throat before looking away again. "But I might be wrong," Mike finally said. "Like you say, I never knew him."

Micky knew Mike had meant what he said, and that he was just back-tracking in order to 'save face'. He actually found it rather sweet that Mike was clearly embarrassed that he'd unwittingly dished out a compliment.

_Sweet? You actually think he's sweet?_

Micky's face started to burn bright red again, and he felt this bizarre tingling feeling in the pit of his stomach. He suddenly felt uneasy, and when he looked at Mike he knew Mike felt just the same.

"Well..." Micky started, needing to say something. "I'm just saying, it's not too late to make amends."

Mike stood up once more. "This conversation is over." He said coldly. "It ain't none of your business what I choose to do or not do, you got it?"

Micky looked down, nodding his head. "I just don't want you to do something you'll regret."

"Well that's my problem, ain't it? Not yours." Mike said firmly. And with that, he walked off.

Micky watched Mike walk into the house. He felt totally weirded out by their exchange, and he was pretty sure he knew why he felt so unsettled. But he couldn't understand why Mike was acting so strange. It was as if Micky was beginning to make a breakthrough, just to have it torn away again. He sighed deeply to himself. He wanted to help Mike, but he didn't know how.


	3. Chapter 3

Mike was up and out long before Micky woke from his slumber. Mike was an early riser, whereas early to Micky was waking up before 11am. By the time night fell, they still hadn't crossed paths; Mike had been at the garage at his own house, the one part of the house he wasn't having remodelled. He liked to work on cars and motorbikes in his spare time, and that was a good way, other than music, for him to clear his mind.

Mike hadn't slept well the previous night. He'd been tossing and turning all night, annoyed at exposing himself to Micky. He didn't understand why it was such a big deal - at the end of the day, they only talked. And he had to admit it felt nice getting those things off his chest. But he still felt odd about it, uncomfortable about it, and he hoped this hadn't given Micky the impression they could talk about _anything_.

So Mike opted for an early night. He still hadn't seen Micky, and he liked it that way. He knew Micky was out god-knows where with god-knows who, and was pretty sure he'd be woken by him stumbling in at stupid o'clock in the morning, so decided to get as much sleep as he could in the meantime.

As Mike predicted, he was awoken at 3am by the sound of laughter outside his bedroom door. Mike rubbed his eyes and sighed - Micky wasn't alone. Mike could clearly hear a girl's voice, and he heard them make their way past his bedroom.

Mike sighed, and his eyes widened when he realised the sounds Micky and this girl were making were coming from just past his bedroom door. They had stopped. He listened carefully, and could almost hear the sound of fabric rubbing against the wall.

_"Oh great_." He thought. "_They haven't made it to the bedroom."_

"Oh _Micky_..." Mike heard the girl groan. It was loud. It was crystal clear.

It was loud enough hearing Micky in his own bedroom - and they had a room between them. There were six bedrooms in Micky's house, most of them Micky used to store all the random stuff he didn't need that he tended to buy from all sorts of bizarre places. Micky joked when Mike moved in that their rooms couldn't be next-door to each other, in case they each "heard things they didn't want to hear." Micky never warned Mike about how vocal he could be during sex, not that this should've come as any surprise to Mike.

But now it sounded like they were right outside Mike's bedroom door, or at least going at it against the wall to Mike's bedroom, and Mike cringed, knowing he was going to have to listen to them have sex. Either that or he could go out and interrupt them, but he felt that would be even more awkward.

He tried not to listen. He could've done _more_ not to listen. He could've hid under the covers, or wrapped the pillow around his head. He had a record player in his room; he could even have put on some music. But alas, he listened. He could almost picture it from the muffled sounds outside; clothing being discarded, tossed aside. Though from the sounds of things, that were a waste of time - they seemed to be in a bit of a hurry, and it sounded like he was going to get running-commentary of exactly what was going down - literally.

"God Micky, hurry up." The girl gasped.

"My belt is stuck!"

"Hurry up!"

More muffled sounds, and Mike could've sworn he heard the sound of a belt hitting the floor.

"I wanna suck your dick." The girl slurred, and Mike had visions of her dropping to her knees.

Mike closed his eyes. This was getting a bit weird now, and he felt incredibly awkward, and almost a bit perverted knowing he was about to hear his friend and band-mate get a blow job. He'd heard all sorts of noises come from Micky's dressing room on the set of the show, but for some reason, this time, it felt different.

"_Ohhh_ _god_."

Mike's eyes snapped open. His breath seemed to get stuck in his chest as he heard Micky begin to moan loudly. It was so clear. They were right outside the door, and it almost sounded like they were in the same room.

"Ohhh yeah, oh _yeah_, that's it, baby."

Mike's pulse quickened. He found himself breathing heavily. He closed his eyes again, and he pictured some big-busted blonde on her knees, sucking dick like it was the last thing she'd ever do. And he pictured Micky's face, Micky's face scrunched up in pleasure, that wide mouth open as groans of ecstasy escaped his lips. Those almond-shaped-eyes squeezed shut, a thin layer of sweat covering his brow, his curly brown hair bouncing slightly with every movement, sticking gently to his forehead as the sweat begun to gather. The sounds coming through the wall were helping Mike paint this perfect picture in his head.

Mike's eyes snapped open once more. He was breathing even heavier than before, and he felt like something was dancing in his stomach. Fluttering, almost. And it fluttered straight from his stomach, down to his crotch. Micky's moans were still filling the room, and it was as if he had his ear against a loud speaker, and no other sound could be heard.

Then Micky's moans stopped, and he heard the voice of the girl again.

"Fuck me, _please_."

And about 5 seconds later, the moans started again. This time it wasn't just Micky moaning; the girl was moaning too. Micky was fucking her against the wall to Mike's bedroom. And Mike could hear_ everything_.

"Oh _fuck_, yes Micky!" The girl screamed.

"Oh yeah!"

"O_hhhh_..."

"Oh _Cindy_!"

"It's Sarah!"

"Oh _Sarah_, you feel _so_ good!"

"Don't stop!"

"I wanna make you come."

"Oh Micky!"

"Your tits are amazing!"

"Shut up and - _ohhh_ - fuck me!"

"I am fucking you!"

"I'm gonna come, Micky...Micky...Micky, I'm coming!"

"That's it baby, fucking come for me, that's it, oh yeah!"

"Oh _Micky_!"

"Oh Ci- _Sarah_!"

"_Ohhh_."

"_Ugh_hh!"

And then silence.

To say Mike was relieved it was over was an understatement, but it wasn't long before he heard voices again.

"You're amazing." The girl said to Micky.

"I know."

_Arrogant bastard._

"Let's go to my room."

_Shame you couldn't have done that 10 minutes earlier._

Mike heard them head towards Micky's bedroom, and then the sound of the door closing. He hoped and prayed they wouldn't go at it again, and thankfully nothing but silence followed.

As relieved as Mike was that it was over, he was left feeling deeply troubled. He was spooked by the images in his head; the images of Micky. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head quickly in an attempt to rid his mind of the thoughts that were swimming around in there.

That's when he realised he had a raging hard-on. He groaned inwardly. "_I really need to get laid_." Mike thought. He thought about jerking himself off, but couldn't bring himself to touch himself under the circumstances.

Mike sighed, dismissing the feelings inside as just pent up, sexual frustration. It was the thought of the pleasure Micky was feeling that turned him on, NOT the actual thought of Micky. No, it was knowing what that girl was doing to Micky, and knowing how good Micky must've felt. Mike hadn't had a blow job in so long he almost forgot what it felt like. That's what his problem was. There was no need to be spooked by that. He was a red-blooded male who had been without sex for the longest period he could recall in his adult-life. That is what this was about.

The following morning, Mike emerged from his bedroom. He'd slept in later than he normally would, as he'd had yet another troubled night's sleep. He opened his bedroom door to find Micky's belt tossed on the floor right in front of him. And when he turned his head to the left, he saw a little pair of pink lacy panties lying on the floor.

Mike rolled his eyes. "_Classy._" He thought.

Mike made himself some breakfast and was sitting in his usual spot at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee enjoying the morning newspaper when he heard footsteps approach the room. He tutted to himself in displeasure, not expecting Micky and his lady friend to be up for another few hours at least.

Micky and the girl walked into the kitchen, and they were obviously surprised to see Mike there.

"Oh!" Micky laughed upon seeing Mike. "I thought you'd be out."

"Well here I am." Mike responded dead-pan.

The girl was exactly as Mike pictured; pretty, quite small in height, curves in all the right places, and bigger-than-average boobs. Oh, and she was blonde.

Micky grabbed the girl by the hips, pulling her close. "Shall I make you some breakfast?" He asked her.

She giggled. "Yeah, I'd like-" she paused, noticing the clock that hung on the kitchen wall. "Oh crap!" She squeaked. "Is that actually the time?"

Micky turned to look at the clock on the wall behind him. "Yeah, that clock is right."

Mike rolled his eyes.

"Shit, I have to be at work in like, 20 minutes!" She said, pulling away from Micky.

"Aw, don't you have time to at least have a coffee?" Micky pouted.

"No, my boss will kill me." She slipped on her high-heels that she had in her hand, before stretching up to kiss Micky on the lips. "But I'll see you around, yeah?"

"Definitely." Micky smirked.

The girl grinned at him before turning on her heel and hurrying out.

Micky sighed contently. "Ah, she was great."

"So I heard." Mike muttered loud enough for Micky to hear.

"Oops, yeah... sorry about that." Micky laughed. "We didn't make it to my room."

"I'd never have guessed." Mike said sarcastically, not taking his eyes off his paper.

Micky looked at Mike, who was wearing an almost disgusted expression. "What's the matter, are you jealous?" He teased.

Mike's eyes shot to Micky, and he suddenly felt paranoid. "Don't be stupid." He said defensively.

"You know, if you come out with me some time, I could get you a girl like that." Micky suggested.

Mike scoffed sarcastically. "I don't think so." He replied.

"Why not?" Micky asked him. "You need to get laid, man. Seriously, when was the last time you picked up a chick?"

Mike glared at Micky. "What's it to you?"

"I'm just saying, it'd do you good. Get rid of some of that tension." Micky walked behind Mike and gave both Mike's shoulders a squeeze to highlight the 'tension' he refered to.

Mike, for some reason, was mortified, and he shrugged Micky off as if he'd received an electric shock. He didn't know why he responded that way, it just happened automatically, as if he was repelled by Micky's touch.

Micky held his hands up defensively. "Jesus, relax, will you?" He said, wondering why Mike was acting so weird. Well, weirder than normal. "What's your problem, man?"

"Oh I don't know, maybe it's being up half the night hearing you screw that bimbo." Mike snapped.

"Did I seriously last half the night?" Micky asked, his face lighting up.

Mike cast his eyes to the ceiling. "Give me strength..." He muttered.

"Hey, just because I know how to have a good time." Micky stated, getting a little annoyed with Mike's attitude. "Maybe you should try it some time."

"What, act like you, you mean?" Mike asked.

"Yeah, why not?" Micky wondered.

"Maybe you should learn to treat women with a bit more respect." Mike spat.

"I do treat women with respect, thanks." Micky folded his arms. "You just saw me offer her breakfast!"

"_Her_." Mike emphasised. "I bet you don't even remember _her_ name."

"Er, I do actually." Micky said arrogantly, as if remembering this girl's name was something to be proud of. He then paused, thinking he probably boasted a little too soon. Then it hit him. "Cindy!" He announced proudly. "Her name is Cindy."

Mike rolled his eyes once again. "_Sarah_."

Micky looked at Mike blankly. "Who's Sarah?"

"_Her_ name is_ Sarah_."

"Oh..." Micky rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a little embarrassed that Mike's point had been proven. "How do you know, have you met her before?"

"Jesus Christ." Mike sighed. "I know her name because I heard you shoutin' it through my goddamn bedroom wall at 3 in the mornin'!"

"Oh well at least I got it right when I was fucking her." Micky sighed with relief.

Mike had had enough, and he closed his paper before storming out of the room.

"Hey, you haven't drunk your coffee!" Micky called after him.

"You drink it." Mike shouted back.

Micky frowned, hearing the door slam shut. He rubbed his head, now realising he had a headache due to his hangover. He slumped down onto the chair Mike had been sitting in, and he sighed to himself. Was he really disrespectful to women? He hadn't had any complaints so far. It's not like he was married or involved with anyone. Who was Mike to judge what was respectful or not?!

Micky suddenly felt annoyed. And underneath that, he was once again feeling slightly hurt by Mike's words. For some reason, things Mike said seemed to stick with him. It was the same two days ago when Mike said Micky was a great man like his dad. That had really stuck with Micky - he'd really taken it to heart. And while that comment had made him feel rather warm and fuzzy inside, the comments Mike had made just now made him feel like shit.

Micky cared about what people thought of him. Micky cared about what _everyone_ thought of him. For as long as he could remember, he needed to be liked. He needed to be loved, especially by the people he cared about. He knew he could be irritating, and sometimes he would get a kick out of winding people up. Especially people like Mike. Actually, especially _Mike_. It was because Mike was so easy to wind up. Mike was already wound up, like an elastic band just waiting to snap. Micky didn't know why he enjoyed pushing Mike; he never wanted to make him angry or upset him or anything like that. He just wanted to push Mike to the limit sometimes. It was stupid really, considering when he pushed him to the limit two days ago, Mike ended up saying things that Micky didn't like. But that had also led to a heart-to-heart. Micky knew Mike wasn't really a tough old boot who had no feelings underneath - on the contrary, Micky knew there was so much bubbling under the surface of Mike that he wanted to discover.

Ever since they had met, Micky was intrigued by Mike. He was mysterious, he seemed to have a chip on his shoulder, he could be cold but also hot-headed. He could also be devastatingly charming. Mike described himself as a con-man, and Micky never understood why Mike thought that of himself. Micky was fascinated by Mike, by his lyrics, by his music - by everything. When Mike would tell stories, Micky would listen with such intent and wonder. Mike could also be funny - hilarious, actually. Micky found his own sense of humour rather predictable, but the funniest thing about Mike was that no one ever knew when Mike was going to say something funny; it would appear out of nowhere. Mike was dead-pan. Mike was sarcastic. Mike was smart, probably one of the smartest people Micky knew. Not in the sense that Mike had an overwhelming amount of knowledge about everything, because he didn't. Mike was the kind of smart that really mattered - he was life smart. He was street-wise. He grew up in a tough part of town with very little money. He had to work hard his whole life. Mike had learned how to get what he wanted, and he learned the hard-way. Micky liked that, and he couldn't deny he looked up to Mike like an older, wiser brother.

But Micky found himself dwelling on Mike's words, getting even more annoyed and even more frustrated by them as the day went on. He was building himself up, and he was eager for an argument. Micky wasn't a particularly argumentative person; he was a lover, not a fighter - he could normally let things slide. But not this time.


	4. Chapter 4

Micky spent most of the day in bed attempting to sleep off his hangover as he planned on going out again that night. It was early evening when he finally emerged, and he was still worked up by Mike's comments that morning and was determined to have it out with him.

Micky found Mike playing his guitar in Micky's music room. Mike looked up when Micky barged in, and he could tell instantly that the younger man wasn't happy.

"You know, I don't appreciate you accusing me of being disrespectful to women." Micky snapped.

Mike was taken aback, assuming Micky had forgotten all about what he'd said earlier. "That ain't technically what I said. I said you should treat women with a bit _more_ respect."

"That's practically the same thing!" Micky hit back. He wasn't about to let this go. "Every girl I bring back here, every girl I'm with, they all know where it's at. They're looking for fun just like I am, we're all on the same page, it's not like I have a pregnant wife at home - that's more your style. So I don't understand what your fucking problem is?"

"Micky, cool it." Mike put down his guitar. He was surprised at how worked up Micky seemed to be. "Just foget about it. It were a stupid passing comment, it don't mean nothin'."

"Well clearly it does mean something, or else you wouldn't have said it." Micky stood firm, and he looked seriously pissed. "I'm getting sick and tired of your annoying little digs at me, you're always making comments about what I do or who I see, if you were a girl you'd be classed as a prize-bitch."

"Micky, you're overreactin'." Mike said calmly, trying his best not to get angry. It was true though; he was always making snide remarks about Micky's lifestyle - he had done from the moment he moved in, and it had only been getting worse as the weeks passed.

"Great, so now you think I'm a drama queen as well as treating women like shit." Micky spat.

"What is your problem?" Mike asked, raising his voice slightly. "I told ya, it didn't mean nothin', so why don't you just drop it?"

"Because I don't understand what your problem is!"

"I ain't gonna argue with ya." Mike stood up. "You're tired and obviously still hungover. Let's just drop this right now."

"No, if you have something to say, why don't you just say it?" Micky asked.

Mike stared at him. "I ain't got no idea what you're talking about." He replied, perplexed. "I think you seriously need to cool it."

"You know, if you have some kind of problem with me or how I live my life, you know where the door is." Micky said seriously.

Mike paused, suddenly realising how disrespectful to Micky he had been. He was always moody, he could often be rude, and he had started to constantly make comments about Micky's drinking or the girls he brought home. It was unfair, and he suddenly realised why Micky was so annoyed. However, it was the level of Micky's annoyance that threw Mike.

"Do you want me to leave?" Mike asked him, figuring it was a fair question.

Now it was Micky's turn to look stumped. He was silent, trying to figure out how to answer Mike's question. "I didn't say that." He finally said.

Mike sighed. "Look, I'm sorry for sayin' what I said. If I thought it'd bother you this much I wouldn't have said it."

Micky went quiet. He looked a little embarrassed about his outburst, but he did feel better for it. "Whatever." He said before walking out.

Mike was left feeling confused. Why did this keep happening? These silly little arguments were becoming more and more frequent, and quite frankly, they were stupid. There was tension between himself and Micky that he didn't understand. He'd begun to feel uneasy in Micky's presence, on edge, like he was waiting for something to happen - but he had no clue what it was.

Micky went out again that night, and Mike ended up falling asleep in front of some old movie on TV. He was awoken by the sound of a car pulling into the drive outside. He stretched himself out, stretching his neck as it'd become crooked from the way he'd fallen asleep. He looked at his watch; it was only just past midnight. He rose to his feet and turned off the TV before going to the window and peering outside.

A taxi was in the driveway, and out of it emerged Micky's friend Paul. Mike watched as Paul paid the cab driver, and then virtually dragged Micky out of the back of the car. Micky looked like he couldn't even stand, and Paul had to wrap Micky's arm around his own neck, holding on to him for dear life as if Micky was completely unstable without him.

Mike rubbed his head, a little unsettled that Micky had managed to get himself into such a state in such a short period of time - he could only have been out for 4 hours, and already he was too drunk to stand.

Mike went to the door, opening it to find Paul trying to drag Micky up the few steps to his house.

"You mind giving me a hand here, man?" Paul called to Mike.

Mike hurried outside, helping Paul get Micky up the steps and into the house.

"It-it's M-Mike, Michael!" Micky cooed as Mike grabbed hold of Micky's other arm.

"What the hell has gotten him like this?" Mike asked, feeling genuinely concerned.

"I have no idea, he's just totally out of it." Paul replied as they got Micky indoors. "I think he took something, but I don't know what. He was certainly knocking the booze back though."

"You didn't think of stopping him?" Mike asked in an annoyed tone.

"I'm not his guardian, man." Paul replied, helping Mike drag Micky into the lounge. "The guy is crazy, he'll do whatever he wants. We told him to slow down but he seemed pretty determined to get wasted as soon as possible."

"I'm fiiiiiiine." Micky slurred as Mike and Paul dropped him onto the couch.

"Look, I've gotta split." Paul said to Mike. "I'm supposed to be meeting this girl. I was going to just put him in a cab and leave him to it, but..."

"Don't worry, I'll look after him." Mike responded, now keen for Paul to leave.

"Don't go, where's the party?" Micky asked Paul, looking around the room in confusion.

Paul laughed. "You're wild, man." He said before turning to Mike. "I'll see myself out."

"Thanks for getting him back here." Mike said, genuinely grateful.

"No problem." Paul replied and then looked at Micky once more. "You - be good!"

Micky giggled, flopping back on the couch. Paul laughed before walking out, leaving Mike and Micky to it.

Mike sighed, looking at Micky. His eyes kept rolling into the back of his head, and he looked terrible.

"What did you take, man?" Mike asked Micky, knowing it was probably stupid trying to get a serious answer out of him.

Micky looked around the room, totally confused. "Where did everyone go?"

"No one was here Mick, it's just us. Paul has gone home." Mike responded, trying to get Micky straight on the couch.

Micky attempted to stand, but Mike quickly stopped him.

"I wanna dance, man." Micky said, trying to fight off Mike in an incredibly weak attempt. "I wan- I wanna dance."

"Well you can dance some other time." Mike said calmly, gently pushing Micky back onto the couch. "Now you're gonna sit here while I get you some water, okay?"

Micky looked at him blankly, as if Mike had just spoken to him in fluent Chinese.

"Sit still." Mike told him, like a parent ordering a child. "Don't move, I'll be 5 seconds."

Mike hurried into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. He hurried back into the lounge to find Micky laying flat out on his back on the floor, starring at the ceiling.

Mike sighed, setting the glass down on the coffee table. "Come on, Mick." He bent down, trying to help Micky to his feet.

Micky was like a rag-doll, all floppy and certainly not making things easy for Mike.

"It's so pretty." Micky gushed, starring at the ceiling. "Look!"

Mike looked up. "Yes Micky, that's the ceiling."

"But-but...l-loooook. Look at the- look at the colours!"

"Yeah Mick, the colours are real pretty." Mike said as he finally managed to get Micky to his feet.

Mike hated seeing Micky like this. It really bothered him seeing Micky in such a state.

"Why do you get yourself like this, huh?" Mike asked Micky calmly, as if he was talking to a child. He once again knew he wasn't going to get a proper answer, but he couldn't help himself. "You don't need to get like this, Mick. You don't need it."

Micky looked really happy, and his eyes were filled with joy. "I like someone." He slurred totally out of the blue as Mike laid him down on the couch.

Mike sighed, suddenly filled with sadness. "That's nice."

Micky's smile faded. His eyes seemed to turn dark and he suddenly looked deeply troubled. He started shaking his head frantically. "No, no no no no no, no-y-you don't get it."

"Don't get what?" Mike asked as he perched on the edge of the couch.

"You-you don't understand." Micky whined, covering his face with his arm and becoming incredibly childlike.

Mike was well aware of Micky's current mental state, knowing whatever he had taken was probably having a profound effect on any thoughts in Micky's head, yet he felt a high level of concern seeing Micky look so troubled - drug-induced or not.

"What don't I understand, Mick?" Mike asked gently, not liking the look in Micky's normally cheerful-eyes.

Micky stared at Mike. He struggled to get focus, but he managed to focus on Mike's face. He stared at him, and Mike thought it looked like he had the weight of the world on his slim shoulders. He didn't like seeing Micky like that. Micky could be hilarious when he was drunk or high, but sometimes he'd push it way too far. This time was one of them, and he didn't like knowing there were dark thoughts in Micky's head - whatever they may be.

Micky's eyes turned from sad to shocked, and a look of horror filled them. Mike watched as Micky's cheeks puffed out, and he immediately put his hand to his mouth. Mike knew what this meant - Micky was about to throw up.

"Oh shit." Mike muttered, quickly leaning forward and grabbing the paper-bin that was nearby, and bringing it up to Micky as he leaned over the side of the couch.

Mike turned his head away as Micky vomited into the small wicker basket, thankful that he'd got it to him in the nick of time.

Mike turned back when Micky had finished throwing up, and Mike put the bin back on the floor as Micky slumped back on the couch. Mike then stretched to the coffee table and grabbed a tissue, and he brought his hand to the side of Micky's face, holding him in place as he wiped away some excess-vomit from Micky's chin.

Micky stared up at Mike with heavy-lidded eyes. "You...you're not like they say." He slurred. "You're nice."

Mike sighed, throwing the tissue into the sick-filled basket. He then picked up Micky's glass of water. "Here, drink this."

Micky looked at him blankly once more, and Mike put his hand behind Micky's head, lifting it up as he brought the water to his lips. He couldn't help but notice how soft and lively Micky's curls felt in the palm of his hand. "_Just like Micky, really_" he thought.

Micky sipped the water, and ended up chugging it. He finally stopped for breath, a little water dripping down his chin as he flopped his head back onto the arm of the couch.

"You're good to me." Micky continued.

Mike couldn't help but laugh. "That ain't what you were saying earlier."

Micky looked totally confused, obviously having no recollection of their earlier argument. He just looked at Mike blankly, like a lost little boy.

Mike sighed deeply, watching Micky stare up at him with wonder in his eyes. "What am I gonna do with ya, huh?"

"I'm trouble." Micky said seriously, his eyes fixed on Mike like he was the only object on the planet.

Mike was unsure what Micky meant by that, and he frowned slightly. "No you ain't, you're a good boy when you're not getting yourself fucked-up... Do you remember what you took, Mick? Did you take a pill or somethin'?"

Micky closed his eyes, and shuffled slightly, getting himself comfortable. "I-I don't...I don't know. It was round and...blue or pink or-or something else."

Mike took a deep breath, annoyed at how irresponsible Micky could be. He was aware that on more than one occasion, Micky had been handed pills and taken them without even asking what they were or what they did. Mike had argued with Micky about this before, and he was frustrated that he never seemed to listen.

"Stupid boy..." Mike muttered quietly to himself, watching as Micky started to drift off to sleep.

"You're nice to me..." Micky said lazily, and Mike could tell the voice of sleep was calling to him.

Mike instinctively brushed Micky's hair back with his hand, much the same as he would brush his sons' hair back when they drifted off to sleep. He didn't know why he'd done that, but when he noticed a small smile form on Micky's lips, he felt a knot in the pit of his stomach. He watched Micky fall into sleep's clutches, that small smile still sitting perfectly on his lips. Mike was bewitched almost, staggered how Micky could go from looking so troubled and fucked up, to looking the picture of perfect peace in a matter of moments.

And then Micky's breathing steadied, as he'd truly passed-out now. For some reason, Mike was left with a feeling of sadness that Micky wouldn't remember this the next morning. Mike liked hearing Micky say he was "nice", even if it probably meant nothing and was only fuelled by drink and god-knows what else.

That knot in Mike's stomach was still there, and he couldn't work out whether it was good or bad. The only thing that seemed to make sense was the fact that Mike was unable to take his eyes off of Micky. Micky's mouth had dropped open just slightly, and his slow, steady breath escaped his parted lips. His face was still a picture of content, and Mike could only imagine - and hope - that Micky was falling into a world of sweet, pleasant dreams. Mike didn't like that troubled look in Micky's eye just now; Micky should never be troubled. Micky's good mind and beautiful heart should only ever be filled with laughter and smiles and all the things in life which made Micky happy - which seemed to be everything. Micky was always happy. Micky could find happiness in the smallest of things; he could turn everything into a game, he could even make long car or plane rides enjoyable or entertaining for himself and everyone else. Micky bought so much joy to so many people's lives - many more than he realised. He brought joy to Mike's life, even though Mike rarely acted like he did.

But with the joy that Micky brought to what had become Mike's cold and lonely world, he also gave Mike an incredible sense of fear that he had never felt before in his life. It suddenly dawned on him that he was scared. This fear had been there, at the back of his mind, at the back of his heart, niggling away at him, trying to rear its ugly head for a long time now. But Mike had somehow managed to keep it under-wraps, keep it contained, keep it under control. Keep it from coming to the forefront, and he realised that every time he snapped at Micky over nothing, criticised Micky's lifestyle, or was rude or unpleasant to him, that was the fear winning. Every time he and Micky had a stupid argument, that was because of that fear. And that fear represented a feeling; the fear was _of_ a feeling. A feeling that was starting to eat away at Mike like a cancer. It was the answer, the real answer, to all of those questions Mike had asked himself. This feeling, this haunting, over-powering feeling that Mike was struggling to keep contained.

Right now, in this moment, Mike was weak. He was vulnerable. He thanked the heavens above that Micky was unconscious. Mike was exposed. This feeling had taken over. It hit him like a bucket of ice-water, the realisation smacking hard into every inch of his body and mind. The reason for all of his troubles, for all of his mistakes, the reason his marriage fell apart. The reason for the darkness, the reason for alienating people, the reason for pushing people away. It had been right in front of him the whole entire time, for the past 4 years; working with him, performing with him, playing with him, laughing with him, recording with him, shooting with him, singing his songs, letting Mike live in his house. The reason for every smile, for every laugh, and for every ounce of misery Mike had inflicted upon himself. The reason was this sleeping, curly haired boy in front of him.


	5. Chapter 5

Mike stayed with Micky through the night. He'd made Micky more comfortable; taking off his shoes, putting a cushion behind his head and covering him with a blanket. And Mike watched over him all night, making sure he didn't have a funny turn or have a bad reaction to whatever he might've taken.

When Mike realised Micky was out of the wars early the next morning, he made himself scarce, leaving Micky to sort himself out. When Micky awoke, he stretched himself out. He felt rough - but he could've felt a lot worse. Micky then realised that he was comfortable, noting how much worse he would've felt if he'd have passed out on the floor.

Micky headed upstairs to shower. He brushed his teeth, desperate to rid himself of the hideous taste that was left in his mouth. He had no recollection of the night before, but he was aware he hadn't managed to put himself to bed on the couch un-aided, and figured there was only one person who would've helped him out like that.

Micky found Mike in the kitchen, sat in the same place he always sat, writing a letter. Mike was writing to his grandmother, who he still kept in close contact with despite her living so far away in Texas. Mike didn't acknowledge Micky as he walked in - he was too embarrassed to even look at him.

"Hey," Micky said as he entered the room. Mike ignored him. "I'm guessing it was you who put me to bed last night. Put me to bed on the couch, I mean." Micky quickly corrected himself.

Mike remained silent, trying to think of what to write next - his concentration had been broken.

"Unless it wasn't you and I have some guardian angel who looks out for me when I'm wasted." Micky laughed, and Mike looked up. "Or maybe it was a bunch of little elves or something, or fairies. Maybe leprechauns."

Mike glared at Micky, totally unimpressed that he seemed to be making a joke of the situation.

"What?" Micky questioned, baffled by Mike's expression.

"You were fucking out of it, you couldn't even stand up." Mike said, his voice dripping with disapproval. "You were a fuckin' mess."

"Sorry, mom." Micky laughed.

Mike saw red. "Do you think this is fucking funny?"

"Alright, chill out." Micky held his hands up in a defensive manner. "What's your problem _now_?"

"What's my problem? What's my problem?!" Mike asked, standing up. Micky was totally shocked by Mike's reaction. "Do you even remember what you took last night?"

Micky scratched his head. "No..."

"That's my fuckin' problem!" Mike spat. "How many times do I have to tell you that shit is dangerous, Micky! You can't keep goin' around taking pills from strangers when you don't even have a damn clue what they are or what they'll do!"

"Okay, okay, calm down!" Micky stressed, still holding his hands up in a 'I surrender' fashion. "I'm totally fine. You're making a big deal over nothing."

"Over nothin', huh?!" Mike shouted. "You think I get some sorta kick out of seein' you in that state? Do ya?"

"Hey, I didn't ask for your help." Micky argued. "I'm sure I wasn't that bad. You should've just left me to it."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me!" Mike yelled. "Do you know what would've happened if I left you to it? Do you? Less than an hour after you passed out you started chokin', you'd rolled on to your back and you were gonna fuckin' throw up again in your sleep, because you were too fucked up to wake up! If I weren't there to turn you on your side you would've choked on your own vomit."

Micky was shocked, and he felt guilty and embarrassed. "Well I'm sorry." He humphed.

"Sorry ain't fuckin' good enough, when will you learn to damn-well listen to me?!" Mike shouted.

"I made a mistake, alright?!" Micky started getting defensive. He understood why Mike was annoyed, but he felt Mike's reaction was way over-the-top.

"No, it ain't alright. You need to learn some goddamn responsibility, when are you going to stop fuckin' with things you don't understand?"

"Because you're so fucking perfect, aren't you?" Micky snapped. "You've never done anything you shouldn't do, have you?!"

Mike walked right up to Micky, and pointed his finger at him in a somewhat threatening manner. "Don't you try turnin' this shit on me, this is about you actin' like a goddamn child!"

"Stop taking your shit out on me." Micky said, his voice rising in pitch and volume. "I'm fucking tired of you giving me hell all the time, just because you're jealous, just because you hate the fact that I know how to have fun and you don't. Because you're hung-up on all your stupid mistakes, and you take it out on me!"

"And you ain't got no hang-ups, have you Micky?" Mike asked, accusingly.

Micky was thrown. "No, I haven't."

"You're telling me you have no fucking hang-ups, that you're so fucking perfect?" Mike shouted.

"Yeah, I am actually!" Micky said confidently.

Mike stepped closer to Micky again. He looked furious, and Micky couldn't help but feel intimidated by the tall Texan standing over him.

"You think I don't realise? You think I don't fucking see it?!" Mike shouted, and he seemed to be losing control now. "You think I don't realise you make jokes when you're uncomfortable, or that you use your humour as a defence, like a fuckin' mask? I see your hands shakin' like a damn leaf before we go on stage, and do you think I ain't noticed if we're goin' into a room full of people we don't know, you get someone else to walk in first? And I know you feel you have to drink to have a good time, that you can't be the Micky everyone expects you to be unless you're filled with booze or weed or god-knows what else. You think I don't fuckin' see that shit, Micky? You think I don't know you have hang-ups?"

Micky was stunned. He felt a mixture of emotions bubbling in his stomach, and in his head. He felt anger race through his body, but his head wasn't sure why exactly he was angry. Everything Mike had said was true. But Micky was overcome with a feeling he couldn't explain in that very moment, and he found himself grabbing the front of Mike's shirt and shoving him hard into the wall with pure rage.

Mike had immediately regretted what he'd said, not because he didn't mean it; but because of what it meant. Showing Micky that he'd noticed those things about him, what the hell would Micky think now?

Well it was obvious what Micky thought now - he was _mad_. Initially Mike thought Micky looked more mad than he'd ever seen him, but when Mike stared into Micky's eyes, it didn't look like anger - not really. It was the same look he'd seen the night before; that troubled, lost look. That look that was almost asking for help. That look that suggested Micky was battling with something. And that look broke Mike's heart.

Before Mike could stop himself, before he could even process this strange, heated moment, he closed the gap between their faces and pressed his lips to Micky's. Micky still had a tight grip on the front of Mike's shirt, and he was absolutely still as Mike kissed him.

It wasn't real, or at least it didn't feel real. Time seemed to slow down, and everything else seemed to stop. Mike didn't have a chance to comprehend what he was doing, but a hard shove in the chest brought him crashing back down to earth with a painful bang.

Micky shoved Mike away from him, back up against the wall, stepping back and away from Mike like there was an invisible force pushing them apart. And that's when the moment of madness truly hit Mike. He suddenly felt a rush of fear like he had never felt before. He felt frozen to the spot, paralyzed with fear and regret and shame. Oh god, the shame was unbearable. He now truly understood the meaning of wanting the ground to swallow him up. He wanted to fall off the face of the earth and disappear without a trace. What the hell had he done? He felt sick to the pit of his stomach, an aura of disbelief washing over him to the point where he could hardly believe that had just happened.

Micky stared at Mike with a look of sheer and utter shock. He looked horrified, but not in an angry or upset way - he just looked stunned. His eyes were wide; he looked almost traumatised. Mike wanted to hang his head in shame, but he was frozen to the spot, staring at Micky's face, desperate to read what was going to happen next.

Micky stepped forward again, grabbing the front of Mike's shirt once more. Micky pinned Mike to the wall, and Mike winced slightly, preparing himself for a hard smack in the mouth - he deserved it, after all. He deserved a punch in the face after what he just did. But the only thing that hit Mike's mouth were Micky's lips.

Micky kissed Mike with more force than Mike had kissed Micky a few moments before. Mike instinctively grabbed hold of the front of Micky's loose-fitting shirt, fisting it tightly. Not to push him away, but to pull him closer. Mike felt his spirit seem to lift out of his body; so _this_ was what an outer-body experience felt like. It was as if he was watching this moment, feeling this moment, but it was too surreal to be reality. This couldn't possibly be happening. No thoughts seemed to properly process through Mike's head, it was just a jumble of feelings and emotions, of despair, of pleasure, of lust, of fear, and of something else much stronger than all of those things. There was a fire burning, and the flames were beginning to get out of control. Mike was getting hot, his whole body seemed to be on fire. He could physically feel Micky push his tongue into his mouth, and he could feel the deathly-tight grip Micky had on his shirt. Mike still gripped Micky's shirt in the same fashion, and it was almost as if they were trying to keep each other under control, or to keep _themselves_ under control.

Mike had no idea how long this kiss had been lasting, as all sense of time seemed to disappear. But suddenly his mind seemed to truly register what was happening. Finally the physical action had processed in Mike's head, and panic seemed to flow right from the tips of his toes, up through his body, to the hands gripping Micky's shirt, and to the lips that were being devoured by Micky's. Any ounce of pleasure was over-run by that fear, and Mike quickly shoved Micky away from him as the reality of this moment finally hit him.

Mike shoved Micky backwards, unable to look up at him. Mike's eyes became fixated on the floor, his breathes deep, heavy and ragged. Micky was breathing in the exact same way, his heart pounding so hard he feared it would break through his chest and land in a messy pile on the floor.

Mike turned and walked out, not once lifting his head, not once looking at the man he'd just been passionately kissing while pinned to the kitchen wall.

Micky stood there, frozen, his eyes wide in bewilderment. He felt dazed, confused, and overwhelmed. He stumbled over to the sink, and leaned over it. He closed his eyes, feeling a wave of nausea hit him. He felt dizzy, like he needed to sit down. His hands were shaking. He grabbed hold of a glass sitting on the counter, and he shakily filled it with water. He gulped it down, and he dropped the glass into the sink once he'd finished drinking. He tried to regain his breath, but his mind was racing as fast as his heart.

_"Why did you do that? Why did you do that?"_ A voice asked Micky. But then another voice called; "_Mike did it first."_

And it was true; Mike _had_ made the first move. Mike had kissed_ him_ first. Why the hell had he done that? Was he playing games? Did Mike know how Micky felt? Had Mike figured it all out, and was testing Micky? Toying with him? Looking for proof?

Micky had been confused about his feelings for Mike from day one. Micky remembered the day he first met Mike; he thought Mike was weird. He thought Mike was totally different from the guys he normally met at auditions. Mike appeared cocky, arrogant, but at the same time he was self-deprecating, and he had a chip on his shoulder. He was modest about his talent. He was...confusing. He was interesting.

From the word go, Micky saw Mike differently to how he saw other men - or how he saw _anyone_. At first he dismissed it as intrigue; the formation and the beginning of the band was such a whirlwind that Micky hardly had time to question things. The success that greeted them almost immediately served as the perfect distraction from any questions Micky might've thought about asking himself.

Micky and Mike had got along right from the start. Micky had been slightly intimidated by this tall, mysterious Texan. But once they got talking, they got along brilliantly. Their contrasting personalities seemed to complement each other. For all their differences, they seemed to gel. They seemed to click. They had chemistry. They laughed together, and they shared the same beliefs and morals. The two of them got along better than anyone else in the band. They argued now and then, but never over anything serious. All the serious arguments were between everyone else.

Micky was open-minded, and he'd always been open-minded about his own sexuality, and sexuality in general. He'd always said to himself he wouldn't care if he was gay, that it wouldn't be a big deal to him. But Micky had never found any men attractive. That's not to say Micky couldn't appreciate when someone was good-looking - he certainly wasn't afraid to say that someone like Davy was an incredibly good-looking guy, but that certainly didn't mean he wanted to jump his bones.

But this was where he got confused, because with Mike it was different. It had _always_ been different. Micky was sometimes hypnotised by Mike. Micky thought Mike was beautiful; as beautiful as any woman he'd ever seen, only in a different way. Mike made Micky feel funny inside, and Micky didn't understand why. He couldn't figure it out. Because if he was gay, he'd want to fuck guys in general, right? Not that Micky had ever let himself think about fucking Mike.

Micky had done a good job at playing down his feelings for Mike. He dismissed them, and regarded them as some sort of twisted fantasy that he never allowed to blow up into an _actual_ fantasy, because Micky never allowed himself to fantasise about Mike. To Micky, it wasn't real; it was like when he had a crush on a TV-actress when he was a teenager, and he had pictures of her on his bedroom wall. It wasn't real, because the actress didn't know he existed. It was never going to happen because she was untouchable; she was a superstar and Micky was some spotty teenage boy. With Mike it was similar; Micky regarded Mike as untouchable, too. Any feelings Micky might've had for Mike bubbling under the surface were pointless and meaningless, because it could never happen. Just as it could never happen with that actress.

As time went on, the feeling seemed to grow stronger - but Micky always managed to keep it under control. He never let it affect anything. He never felt awkward or weird around Mike, not until recently at least. Micky wondered whether it was a good idea inviting Mike to stay with him, but Micky felt that not offering purely because of this stupid 'feeling' would be letting the feeling win, admitting that it was significant enough to effect his decisions in real life. To Micky, he'd _never_ let it be significant. What was the point? It would just complicate things if Micky acknowledged his feelings as something real, so it was best to just let them lie in peace and get the hell on with it.

But now they had shared a kiss. Micky had kissed a man before, but only as a dare during a game of spin the bottle. Micky couldn't even remember the guys name; they only agreed to kiss because if they kissed, two of the girls they were playing with would kiss each other too. It wasn't a proper kiss anyway, just touching of the lips. Not like the kiss with Mike; that was a_ real_ kiss. Micky thought about all the kisses he'd had in his life, and something about the kiss he shared with Mike was totally different - and not just because Mike was a man.

Micky felt more confused than ever, not to mention completely, genuinely terrified about what this could possibly mean. He was mentally kicking himself, wondering how he could've let this feeling take control like that.

_But Mike made the first move_.

Micky rubbed his face with his hands. Could Mike possibly, truly feel something for him? What if Micky had said something when drunk, and Mike really was just toying with him? What if it was some sort of test?

"_Mike wouldn't do that_". Micky thought.

It all become too much for Micky, who was in a state of shock, panic and personal hell. He was scared his friendship with Mike would be ruined forever - not to mention the implications this would have on the band. How could they go back from this moment? This wasn't exactly how Micky expected to start his day.

"I can't do this..." Micky muttered quietly to himself in despair. And with that, he headed straight upstairs to his room, and buried himself under the covers of his bed.


	6. Chapter 6

Micky spent the whole day in bed, his long legs curled up under him and the covers pulled over his head. He drifted in and out of sleep, and any sleep he did get was dancing with dreams about Mike.

Micky was an over-thinker, and he didn't always think rationally. He replayed the moment over and over in his head, trying to figure out why it happened. He thought about what Mike said to him right before the kiss, all the things he'd said about Micky's hang-ups. What if that was a test too, Mike deliberately not mentioning Micky's biggest hang-up of all: his feelings for Mike.

Micky wondered if he'd given the game away when drunk. He had no recollection of the night before, and Mike was pretty damn pissed at the state Micky was in the next morning. What if Micky had said something about his feelings for Mike, and Mike was now playing mind-games with him?

Micky groaned inwardly, pulling the covers further over his head. He wanted to vanish into thin air. His mind asked a million questions, but had no answers. His own sexuality was the biggest question of all. Any time Micky had questioned it in the past, he'd come up with the same answer:

_I'm not queer. I dig girls. I think girls are hot. I get hard for girls. I come every time I fuck a girl. I don't fuck guys. Guys don't turn me on. I'm not queer._

But if he wasn't gay, what the hell was this thing for Mike? Did that make him bisexual? He'd met all kinds of people at Peter's parties, people from all different walks of life. He'd see a girl kissing a man one minute, before kissing another woman the next, and likewise with men and other men. He'd always been fascinated by it, by the lifestyle some of these people seemed to live. Free-Love to the extreme, Micky thought. But he didn't put himself into that bag, as he was a lady-lovin' man... with the exception of his feelings for Mike.

The only time Micky left his bedroom that day was to get some food. It was about 11pm, and he was starving. He noticed Mike's car still wasn't in the driveway, so he hurried downstairs, made himself a sandwich and went straight back to bed again. There was no way he could face Mike right now, and he wondered how he'd ever manage to look him in the eye again.

It was noon the next day before Micky finally emerged from his room. Mike had been out all night, and Micky couldn't help feel a little concern as staying out all night wasn't really Mike's style. Maybe he picked up a chick, Micky thought, in an attempt to prove his masculinity. The thought of Mike with anyone else gave Micky a feeling a jealousy that he'd never felt before; Micky wasn't the jealous type, probably because he never truly cared about anyone enough to feel any kind of jealousy.

Micky was nervous as he headed down the stairs. He knew he couldn't hide away in his room forever, as much as he wanted to. He needed to face Mike sooner or later, as he was aware that what happened wasn't going to just go away.

By some twisted coincidence, just as Micky reached the bottom of the stairs, Mike walked through the front door. They both paused, and Micky felt a weird tingling feeling that went along with the overwhelming feeling of embarrassment. Mike acknowledged Micky for just a second, before fixing his eyes on the floor and walking right past him.

Micky took a deep breath, but he was stunned that Mike walked away from him without a single word. It was as if Micky's body took control, and his legs started moving without his minds consent, and he stalked Mike into the sitting room.

Micky walked in to find Mike now holding a pile of records, flicking through them. Micky stared at the back of Mike's head, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew Mike was aware he was there, but Mike made no effort to acknowledge him.

Micky knew one of them had to say something eventually. Every part of him wanted to run out of the room, out of the house, and get as far away from this situation as possible. Micky wasn't a fan of confrontation, and this moment was so hideously awkward that Micky felt like he wanted to vomit. But he knew if he run it'd only be delaying the inevitable, so he figured he would be the one to make the first move.

"I think we should talk." Micky choked out, his voice seeming to crack as the words left his mouth in little more than a whisper.

"Have you seen my Dylan record?" Came Mike's nonchalant reply.

Micky was taken aback. "Wh-what?"

"Bob Dylan, his 'Blonde on Blonde' record was here the other day and now it's gone." Mike replied with his back still facing Micky.

For a moment, Micky questioned his own sanity and wondered if he'd actually dreamt everything that happened yesterday. He felt like he could hardly breathe.

"Is-is that all you've got to say?" Micky's voice was high and soft, and he knew he must've sounded pathetic.

Mike finally turned to face Micky, only he didn't actually look at him. "It's my record and I want it. I won't be happy if one of your damn hippy friends has taken it."

Micky couldn't understand why Mike was being so cold, and it started to make him angry. He strut over to where Mike was standing by the record player, and he went straight for another small pile of records that sat beside it. Micky lifted the top record up, and underneath it sat the Bob Dylan album Mike was looking for.

Micky picked it up, thrusting it into Mike's arms. "There. You didn't look very hard."

"Thanks." Mike muttered. He set the rest of records back down on the stand, and turned to leave the room.

Micky was incredulous. "Is that it?!" He asked, but Mike carried on walking. Micky hurried up to Mike, grabbing his shoulder and turning him around. "You're just going to walk away from me?!"

Mike shrugged Micky off of him. "Leave me alone."

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Micky asked in horror. "Are you just going to pretend yesterday never happened?"

"I ain't got a clue what you're talkin' about." Mike said coldly, staring at the record in his arms. He then tried to walk away again.

Micky dashed around Mike, standing in his way. "Don't you do that, don't you try to make out I'm going crazy, that I made that shit up."

"Drop it. I mean it." Mike's tone was hard, and his words were blunt.

"How can I do that? How can I do that?" Micky asked as he begun to get really worked up, his voice becoming high and his words travelling fast. Mike tried to push past Micky, but Micky stood strong, getting in Mike's way once more. "Why did you kiss me? Why did you kiss me, huh? Was it a game, was it a test? You think I'm a fag so you wanted to test me? Is that it?"

Finally Mike looked at Micky's face. "How could you think that?" He asked quietly.

"Because you're not talking to me, you're not saying anything! I don't know what to think, I'm fucking freaking out here. I'm not like you, I can't just pretend nothing has happened, I can't pretend everything is normal when it's not!"

Mike stared at Micky. He looked straight into Micky's eyes, and Mike could see Micky was in despair. Micky looked like Mike felt, like he was in turmoil, that he was lost and confused. Micky needed answers, and he was looking to Mike to give them to him. But Mike was just as lost as Micky.

"Nothing happened." Mike said, looking Micky straight in the eye. "Forget about it."

"I can't." Micky choked, his voice almost pleading.

Mike hated seeing Micky with that troubled look on his boyish face, and knowing he was the cause of it hurt him even more. Had he always been the cause of it? He'd seen that look in Micky's eyes a couple of nights before, when he was drunk. Was Mike the cause of that look then, too?

Mike was suddenly bewitched by Micky. His eyes were fixed on Micky, and Micky was staring right back. Mike realised the reason he hadn't looked at Micky sooner wasn't just because of the shame and embarrassment from yesterday, but because he didn't want to get sucked in. He didn't want to lose himself the way he'd lost himself the day before. It was the same feeling as he felt the previous day; it was as if a magnet was pulling him towards Micky, like he was being hypnotised. It was as if he was completely out of control, and Mike _hated_ not being in control.

But here they were, and Mike felt like he was unravelling. He couldn't take his eyes off of Micky's. This incredible feeling seemed to overpower his mind and his body. He wanted to kiss Micky. The desire was almost unbearable, but it wasn't just a feeling of lust; Mike wanted to kiss Micky's pain away. He wanted to touch him. He wanted to hold him. He wanted to be the reason that look of trouble went away, not the reason it was there in the first place.

Micky broke their eye-lock first, but only to glance down at Mike's lips. It was almost as if he was feeling and thinking the same thing. It was almost as if Micky could feel that magnet pulling them together too.

Mike knew one of them had to be strong. He knew one of them had to walk away, as hard as it would be. And he knew it had to be him; he was the one who needed to take charge.

Mike's gaze faltered. "Forget about it." He said in little more than a whisper, his voice much softer than before. "_Please_."

Micky visibly gulped, but he continued to stare at Mike. "But we need to talk." He whispered.

Mike couldn't stand it any longer - he felt like he was going to explode. "No we don't." He replied, and with that he put his head down, pushed past Micky and walked out.

Mike tossed the record he was holding on to the cabinet as he left the room - he never wanted or needed it in the first place. He went straight to the bathroom down the hall, and locked himself in. He leaned up against the door, pressing his forehead to it. His mind was spinning, and it had been spinning for the past 24 hours.

Mike had spent the previous night in his car. He ended up driving for hours, before parking up and falling into an unsettled sleep. He had never been angrier with himself than he was for kissing Micky - he couldn't actually believe he'd done it. Losing control like that, it was so out of character for him that he felt like he was losing himself. He felt like a total stranger, the realisation of his feelings for Micky a couple of nights ago, followed by the action that could destroy his entire life even more than it was destroyed already, made Mike feel like he didn't even know who he was anymore.

Why couldn't Micky just drop it? Why did Micky have to say anything? Why couldn't Micky just act like everything was normal?

Mike literally banged his head against the door, as if he was trying to knock some sense into himself. He couldn't believe he was feeling what he was feeling, and it scared him. He was at a complete loss as to what to do next. He wanted to run and pack his bags and leave, but another part of him couldn't stand the thought of going anywhere. He didn't think he could bring himself to leave Micky like this.

Another day passed, and once again Mike and Micky had managed to avoid each other. Mike spent the following day with his sons. He took them to the zoo and out for a burger for dinner. He loved spending time with his children, but he didn't get to see them as much since his marriage fell apart. His visitation rights weren't set in stone, and he only ended up seeing his boys once a week. Things were still frosty between Mike and his estranged wife and the truth was he didn't feel worthy of his sons' time, so he didn't fight to see them as much as he wanted to.

Mike had a good day. There was nothing like seeing the happy faces of children to make everything seem a little bit better. Micky was always there though, in the back of Mike's mind. He tried to shake it, to ignore it, but it loomed over him like a black cloud, just waiting for his distractions to end so all the horrible thoughts and fears in Mike's head could take over again. And the moment Mike dropped the boys home, everything came flooding back to him in all its glory.

Mike arrived home early evening to find the house in total darkness - Micky was obviously out. Mike was relieved Micky wasn't there, though he couldn't help but wonder how long they could continue avoiding each other when they lived in the same house.

Mike slumped down on the couch - suddenly he was totally overcome with sadness. He hated saying goodbye to his children, and he suddenly felt incredibly lonely. He knew Micky was out with all his friends having a great time, but here Mike was, sitting at home alone in near darkness, wallowing in his negative thoughts. He wanted someone to talk to, and by someone he meant Micky. Micky listened. Micky understood. Mike had friends, but he hardly ever saw them - at least not nowadays. Mike didn't get out much since the breakdown of his marriage. Occasionally he'd go check out a live band, but that was about it. He just didn't want to be social. He was never the most social person in the first place.

But right now, Mike didn't really want to be on his own either. He didn't really know what he wanted. He thought of getting changed and going out to a bar or club - it was a Saturday night, and there would definitely be people there he would know. But he didn't really want to do that. He didn't really feel like making the effort to talk to people, especially as he hadn't really seen anyone in a while, as that would mean having a catch-up; people asking how things were with his wife, what his living arrangements were, if he'd met anyone else...all the questions Mike didn't want to answer. Mike didn't actually want to answer _any_ questions about _anything._

Mike wanted to get drunk. He wasn't usually the kind of person to drown his sorrows - usually if he was having a hard time he would play music or go for a long drive, that was normally his technique at taking his mind off of things. But tonight he didn't feel like either of those would cut it, and he had the urge to get drunk.

So Mike grabbed himself a glass and opened up a bottle of Scotch. It was Micky's, but Mike didn't care - it was what he felt like drinking, and he would replace it tomorrow, probably before Micky had even noticed it was gone.

Mike put the TV on. He wasn't watching anything in particular; he just wanted some background noise. He poured himself a large glass of Scotch and drunk it fairly swiftly. And then he poured himself another. And another.

Mike sat there totally alone, slowly getting drunk. "_What a loser_." He thought. But his mind was still spinning. He was scared, and he felt like he'd lost his best friend. He wished Micky was here with him. He wanted to talk to him. He wanted to make sure he was okay. But then the thought of even looking at Micky made Mike feel nauseous. What would he say? What _could_ he say?

Mike didn't understand why Micky kissed him back. He didn't get it. He knew when Micky asked to talk the day before, it was probably a good idea. Mike had so many unanswered questions, and he knew Micky would be feeling just the same. But the truth was, Mike couldn't face it. He couldn't face up to his feelings. He didn't want to have to deal with this crazy situation. He was scared and confused and conflicted. He was still lost. He just wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened and get on with his life.


	7. Chapter 7

Mike wasn't really aware of how much he'd drunk or how much time had passed when Micky walked in - Mike hadn't even heard him arrive home. Mike looked up as Micky entered the room, and Micky looked drunk - though thankfully he wasn't completely wasted, and looked about as drunk as Mike felt.

"You should've told me you were having a party here." Micky said sarcastically upon noticing the half-empty bottle of Scotch. "You sure know how to have a good time, getting drunk on your own in front of the TV."

"Well you can't have been having a great time," Mike started, and then looked at his watch. It took him a moment to get focus enough to actually see the time. "It's only midnight."

Micky walked over to where Mike sat on the couch, and he looked at the bottle of Scotch. Micky picked it up from the coffee table and examined it. "This is mine!" He shrieked.

"Keep ya hair on, I'll buy you another one." Mike replied, taking another sip from his glass.

Micky pulled a face, and Mike watched as he stumbled across the room to the drinks cabinet, picked up a glass and returned to where Mike was sitting. Micky then picked up the bottle of Scotch, and poured himself a glass.

"What?" Micky asked as Mike looked at him blankly. "You're drunk, I'm drunk, so we might as well get even more drunker together."

"Drunker." Mike laughed. "Is that even a word?"

Micky shrugged, sitting down next to Mike on the couch. He took a long swig of Scotch, and went to place his glass back on the coffee table. Micky seemed to miscalculate how far he needed to put his glass on the table, because it toppled straight off the edge and smashed on the floor.

"Oops." Micky giggled.

Mike rolled his eyes. "You're an idiot."

Micky got down on the floor and started to pick up the pieces of broken glass.

"Don't do it like that." Mike told him, as Micky seemed to be a little careless. "You need a dust and brush- er, a brush and dustpan."

"No I don't." Micky waved his hand dismissively.

"You're goin' to cut yourself if you carry on like that." Mike warned.

"Noooo, it's fin- OW!" On cue, Micky pricked himself on a piece of glass.

"Why don't you ever listen to me?" Mike asked him, annoyed.

"It's fine, look." Micky held his finger up right in front of Mike's face. "It's just a little prick"

Mike tried to get focus as Micky's finger was only a couple of inches away from his face. He looked at it, and it was only a tiny prick - it had hardly drawn blood.

"Yeah well you're such a drama-queen you probably think you need it cut off or somethin'."

Micky stood up, giving up on clearing up the glass. "You'd probably like that, seeing me in pain."

Mike rolled his eyes. "I rest my case. You _are_ a drama-queen."

"And you're an asshole." Micky hit back.

Mike rose to his feet. "That ain't what you were saying the other night."

"When?" Micky questioned, confused.

"When you were drunk, you said I was nice. You said I were nice and that people were wrong about me."

"Yeah, well, I was drunk." Micky said defensively.

"You're drunk now." Mike looked at Micky.

Micky stared at Mike. "So I am."

Micky then took a couple of steps towards Mike, so they were standing face-to-face. Micky moved up close to Mike, and Mike suddenly felt anxious. Their faces weren't that far apart, and Micky was looking Mike straight in the eye. Mike once again felt vulnerable, and his heart started to race.

"What are you doing?" Mike choked out, his breath becoming ragged as he saw a look in Micky's eye he'd never seen before.

Micky didn't say anything, which unsettled Mike even more. Micky just continued to stare into his eyes, moving even closer. Mike felt powerless, like he was completely at Micky's mercy. And then Micky moved his hand to the side of Mike's neck, wrapping his long fingers around the back of his neck, and sending shivers down Mike's spine. Mike gulped, and Micky moved in to kiss him gently on the lips.

This was a totally different kiss to before. This was gentle, but it was still filled with the same passion. Mike's hands hung limply at his sides, and he still felt totally powerless as the kiss seemed to take over his entire body.

Micky softly broke the kiss, their lips still dangerously close. The kiss had totally taken Mike's breath away, as well as pretty much every rational thought in his head.

"You're drunk." Mike whispered.

"So are you." Micky replied.

Mike breathed heavily, his eyes fixed on Micky's. Micky's eyes were filled with a look of desire, of need, of lust, of desperation. Micky's eyes were filled with all the things Mike felt inside. There was no way Mike was strong enough in this moment to resist Micky.

The only control Mike had was over how he dealt with the desire he now felt, so he grabbed hold of Micky and kissed him fiercely. Everything else became a blur, but Mike started pulling at Micky's shirt, at Micky's body, pawing him, his hands running all over him. And Micky's hands did the same to Mike. Micky wrapped his arms around Mike's neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss. Mike started pushing Micky back towards the couch, and he shoved him down onto it, climbing on top of him.

Micky moved his hands underneath Mike's shirt, running his hands up Mike's back. Mike suddenly felt hornier than he could ever recall feeling in his life, and feeling Micky's hands all over him only spurred him on more. Mike and Micky were desperate for each other, their movements and kisses becoming erratic and out of control.

Micky thrust upwards, pressing his crotch against Mike's. Mike could feel Micky had developed a hard-on to match his own, and it was strange feeling that hard bulge in Micky's jeans press against his own. Mike started to grind against Micky, and he moved his lips to Micky's neck. Micky let out a moan which Mike thought sounded like magic, and it only helped in heightening Mike's desire.

Mike shoved a hand between their bodies, somehow managing to pop open the button of his pants. His erection was painfully straining against his pants, and he needed it to be freed. He shoved his hand inside and started rubbing himself, desperate to relieve himself of some of the tension that was rapidly building and building.

Suddenly Micky's hand joined Mike's down the front of Mike's jeans and boxers, and Mike felt Micky's fingers wrap around his length. Micky started to jerk Mike furiously, and Mike saw stars. He hadn't been intimate with anyone in months, and suddenly Micky's hand felt like the best thing in the world.

With Micky's free hand, he grabbed a fist-full of Mike's dark hair and yanked his head into a deep kiss again. Mike could hardly believe this was happening, and there was no way this could stop now. It had gone too far, and it was only going to go further.

Mike was totally pressed down on top of Micky, and he wanted to make Micky feel as good as Micky was making him feel. So Mike awkwardly moved his hands beneath him, fumbling with the button of Micky's pants, and soon he got it undone, pulled down the zipper and managed to yank down Micky's pants enough to free Micky's own erection.

Mike didn't look at it, he just continued to kiss Micky passionately. And soon he took hold of Micky's hard-on, wrapping his fingers around his length and stroking him in the same erratic rhythm that Micky was stroking him - if you could even call it a rhythm. It was fast and frantic, and it felt so good. Mike didn't even stop to think about how weird it felt to touch another man's penis - he was too wrapped up in his own feelings of pleasure to think about anything at all.

From then on, everything became a blur. Their hands rubbed against each other as they furiously jerked each other off, and their kisses were now roaming everywhere. Mike kissed Micky's face, his lips, his neck. Micky sucked on Mike's earlobe, nibbling it slightly, his free hand clawing at Mike's back underneath his shirt. Everything was a mess, it was reckless, it was fast and furious, frantic and erratic, it was everything that should've been wrong but it felt so so right.

Mike found himself moaning. He couldn't stop himself. But Mike didn't seem to hear his moans - he could only hear Micky's. Micky's moans were like music, and they were getting louder and louder. Mike's eyes were squeezed shut, his head spinning and his heart racing, and before he knew it his orgasm hit him, and he felt himself explode. He thrust deep into Micky's hand, grinding against Micky in the process.

"_Mike_." Micky groaned, and Mike thought it was the most wonderful thing he'd ever heard.

Somehow, hearing Micky's moan brought Mike back down to earth. Hearing his name called like that, hearing it come from Micky's lips...it was surreal. It was dangerous and beautiful and erotic and glorious and wrong. It was _perfect_. And then Micky came, and Mike felt Micky's liquid coat his hand and stomach.

Mike lifted his head. His body was covered in sweat, and he looked at Micky. Micky starred up at him, his face glowing. Suddenly they both felt incredibly sober. Their moment of madness was over, and they were back in the real world again.

This time it was more than just a heated kiss after a heated argument. This time it had gone further than either of them ever dared imagine.

Mike sat up. He swung his legs around and sat on the edge of the couch. He felt like he was in a trance, in shock almost. He slowly pushed himself back into his come-covered pants, and zipped himself up. Micky followed suit and sat up, rising to his feet and pulling up his pants. Micky shot a glance at Mike, who was now sitting forward looking in a state of shock.

Micky straightened himself out, brushing down his shirt and roughly tucking it back into his jeans. His eyes were wide, and he stared at nothing. Micky now felt stone-cold-sober, though he couldn't quite process what he and Mike had just done. He looked at Mike once more, who was staring into space, his face flushed and sweaty. Micky glanced at Mike's crotch - it was wet. Wet from Mike's come, and from Micky's. Micky almost felt hypnotised by it, by the evidence of what they had just done. He looked down at himself, and he was in a mess as well. He felt his cheeks burn red - even redder than they were already.

Micky took a shaky breath in, sniffed hard, and then left the room, leaving Mike alone once more.

Micky stood in the shower for a long time, the hot water hitting his body and washing away the remains of his and Mike's tryst earlier. He felt spaced out, his mind filled with thoughts yet he seemed to be thinking about nothing. He couldn't believe that he'd just fooled around with a man. Not just a kiss, but he touched another man's penis. He jerked off another man, while the same man jerked him off.

Micky looked down at himself. He wondered if he'd imagined it all. Despite his feelings for Mike, he'd never let himself think about anything like that ever happening - even though he wanted it to. As fucked up as his mind felt, he couldn't deny his body felt good. Everything they had done felt good. Actually, it felt incredible.

Micky climbed into bed, and he stared at the ceiling. A short while later he heard Mike climb the stairs, and not long after that he heard the shower running. Micky closed his eyes, and he hoped that Mike didn't feel dirty. Not in the literal sense, but in the mental sense. Micky didn't feel dirty at all, not really. He wasn't keen on being covered in come, but that was nothing the shower couldn't wash away. Water couldn't wash away the thoughts in his head though, but for all the confusion and uncertainty, Micky didn't feel dirty or tainted. He didn't feel like what he and Mike did was wrong, and he hoped and prayed Mike didn't feel that way either.

Mike awoke the next morning, and he was shocked to look at the clock to see he'd slept in late. He'd totally crashed out, sleeping solidly for over 9 hours. He rubbed his eyes, the memories of the night before flooding back to him. He felt nervous and embarrassed. He half wondered if it had all been a dream.

Mike almost couldn't bear to think about what they had done, but he knew it could never happen again. His mind felt heavy but his body felt as light as a feather.

_You ain't got laid in forever. You were drunk and horny. That's all that was, a stupid drunken mistake. It don't mean nothing. It don't mean you're gay. You just needed a release, and now you got it. It won't happen again. You can't let it happen again. You need to set that boy straight. All of this is his fault - he tried to seduce you. He's the queer, not you._

Mike pulled the covers over his head, trying to shut out the voice that was in his head. He wanted to run away as he had no clue how he was going to be able to face Micky again. But he knew he had to, and he didn't want what had happened between them to win. Making out it was no big deal, Mike thought, was the way forward.

A little later, Mike sat in the kitchen. He'd just finished eating when Micky walked in. They didn't look at each other, and Mike felt himself cringe from the moment Micky entered the room. He tensed up, waiting for Micky to say something; Micky always said something. But only silence followed.

Micky went about his business, getting a bowel from the cupboard and filling it with Cornflakes. Mike watched him from the corner of his eye, waiting for Micky to break the silence. Micky was never quiet, and the quietness made Mike even more uneasy than before.

Mike couldn't stand it. He stared at the hard wood of the table, wondering how he and Micky were ever going to be able to act even remotely normal around each other again. So finally Mike decided to speak.

"I ain't queer, you know."

Micky paused, his back still to Mike. He stared down into his bowel of Cornflakes that sat on the counter. He was taken aback by Mike's words, and sadness rocked him.

"Neither am I." Micky replied, still staring into his bowel.

"Good. Well I'm glad we got that straightened out."

Micky then heard Mike push his chair back, and his footsteps leave the kitchen.

Micky took a deep breath. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He gripped hold of the counter top and leaned over it. He felt a lump hit the back of his throat, and tears started to sting his eyes. He tried to blink them away, but that only succeeded in making them fall down his face.

"_I just said I'm not a queer, but now I'm crying like a pussy_." Micky said to himself in his head. He didn't even know why he was upset, but he just felt overcome with emotion. It was all too much - he didn't know what to do.


	8. Chapter 8

Once again, Mike took off. Being in the same room as Micky for less than 60 seconds was enough to drive him mad, and he needed to get out. He packed a small bag and fled - he didn't even know where he was going. He thought about flying home to Texas for a couple of days, but that would mean meeting up with his family and friends back home and he couldn't stand the thought of trying to act normal around anyone at the moment.

Mike stayed in a hotel out of town for two nights. He didn't even call Micky to tell him where he was. It was for the best anyway, Mike thought - it'd do them both good to have some space. Mike wondered how long he could go on living with Micky under the circumstances. He figured it'd probably be best if he packed his bags and found somewhere else to stay until his house was finished.

Mike did nothing but sit in his hotel room for two days straight, trying to figure out what was going on in his head. He thought about talking to Micky about it, discussing it with him - at the end of the day, they were in this together. They had both done what they did. Neither one of them was to blame - they were _both_ responsible for their actions. But Mike still couldn't face it. There were certain things he didn't want to have to admit. There were things he couldn't even admit to himself, let alone Micky.

48 hours after Mike left, he headed home. He felt exceptionally nervous as he walked into the house, but he had a plan; to be cool. Act like it was no big deal. Act like nothing had happened. Ignore it, pretend it didn't matter. Mike wasn't stupid, and he knew his plan was stupid - but it was all he had. The alternative was acknowledging it, facing it, having conversations he wasn't ready to have. He knew it was probably totally unfair on Micky - Micky was a talker, after all. But Mike felt this had to be the best option for both of them.

Mike was prepared to be perfectly normal and polite with Micky. He didn't plan on being rude or unpleasant. But what Mike didn't expect was what he saw when he entered the house.

As Mike walked into the sitting room, he found Micky on the couch. Only Micky wasn't alone - he was with a girl, and they were both naked. Micky was fucking a girl on the couch, the very same couch he and Mike had fooled around on less than 3 days before. They didn't even notice Mike walk in. Mike just stood there, frozen to the spot.

Mike could see more or less everything. Micky was totally naked, and Mike was totally struck by the way Micky looked. His back was glistening in a thin layer of sweat, and his ass...his ass looked perfect. Mike couldn't see Micky's face from the angle he was standing, but he really wished he could. He wanted to see the look he'd seen on Micky's face a few nights before - that look of pleasure, that look of ecstasy. Mike didn't even seem to notice the woman. He hadn't seen a naked woman in such a long time, but she might as well not even have been there - Mike could only see Micky.

They were both moaning, Micky and the girl, both oblivious to Mike's presence. That was until the girl gripped hold of Micky's back, and her head appeared over Micky's shoulder. Her eyes were closed, and she was moaning loudly, but it was as if she suddenly became aware she and Micky weren't alone, and she opened her eyes.

The girl screamed in horror at being watched, and she grabbed the blanket that hung over the back of the couch.

"What?!" Micky gasped, wondering what on earth was the matter. He then craned his neck back to look behind him, and was mortified to find Mike stood there watching them. "What the fuck, man!"

Micky grabbed the blanket, pulling it to cover both his and the girl's modesty. "What the hell are you doing?!"

Mike still stood there, and suddenly his cheeks burnt red as he realised what he was doing. "S-Sorry."

Mike turned and hurried into the next room. He was absolutely mortified not only by what he'd seen, but by the fact that he'd been sprung watching two people have sex. He was so embarrassed, and he was jealous. He felt angry that Micky was with somebody else. He was _furious_.

"Who the hell was that!?" Mike heard the girl ask Micky.

"Just the guy I live with. Put your clothes on."

"Why? Can't we finish?"

"I'm sorry, babe. I've totally lost it."

"You've totally lost it?!"

"Yeah, sorry. Put your clothes on."

Mike rubbed his face with his hands. He heard moving around in the next room, and not long later he heard the front door slam shut. And not long after that, Micky appeared - and he looked furious.

"What that fuck, man!" Micky shouted as he walked in. "You were spying on us, you fucking weirdo!"

Mike was livid. "It's the middle of the afternoon, you were hardly being discreet! Anyone could've walked in!"

"It's my fucking house, I can do whatever the fuck I want!" Micky shouted.

"I could've had the kids with me! What if they had seen that?"

"Fuck you, man! Don't try to make this my problem, you stood there watching us like some fucking creep! Is that how you get your kicks, watching other people have sex?"

Mike felt so humiliated and decided to play defensive. "You did it on purpose, you wanted to get caught! Is this all part of your fucked-up little game?"

"Little game? What the hell are you talking about? You're crazy, man!"

"No, _you_ are!" Mike yelled. "You knew I could walk in any minute!"

"You've been gone for two days, I had no idea if you were even coming back or not! If I want to screw a girl on the couch in the middle of the afternoon in _MY_ house then dammit, I will! I don't have to answer to you or anyone else, and if you have a problem with that then I think you should fucking leave!"

"Well maybe I will." Mike said firmly.

"Good! Go pack your bags and get the hell out of my house. I'm sick of you and your fucked-up shit. I mean it, _get out_."

Mike was taken aback by Micky's words, and he felt hurt. He swallowed hard. "Fine." He said coldly.

Mike walked out, leaving Micky in a state of shock. Micky'd been worrying about Mike the past two days, and he'd tried so hard not to let it bother him. But all Micky could do was wonder if Mike was coming back or not, and hope that he was okay. At the same time he was angry that Mike had just upped and left without a second word. Micky was in a mess.

Early that evening, Mike was in his room getting his things together. He wasn't exactly sure where he'd go, he figured he'd probably head back to that hotel again before finding somewhere a little more permanent.

Micky emerged from his bedroom having just taken a shower. He was about to head downstairs to get a drink when he passed Mike's bedroom. The door was open, and he could see Mike inside packing his things.

Micky stood in the doorway, watching as Mike carefully folded his clothes and placed them into the open suitcase on the couch in his room. For some reason, Micky was surprised to actually see Mike packing, and it saddened him the thought of Mike going away - even though he'd asked him to leave.

"What are you doing?" Micky asked quietly.

Mike looked up - he'd been too wrapped up in his thoughts to even notice he wasn't alone. He was surprised to see Micky standing there, and was even more unsettled that Micky was only wearing a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants - and nothing on top.

Mike looked away again instantly, returning his attention to his packing. "What does it look like I'm doin'?"

Micky was silent. He was upset and embarrassed, and he didn't know what to say. But he knew what he _wanted_ to say.

They were both silent for a little while, Micky simply standing there and watching as one of Mike's suitcases got fuller and fuller.

"You don't have to go." Micky finally choked out.

Mike looked at Micky, surprised by his words. "Yeah I do. You told me to go. It's for the best."

"No it isn't." Micky blurted out, his voice almost cracking as he spoke. He knew he probably sounded utterly pathetic, and he felt himself blush.

Mike looked up at Micky again. Micky was chewing the inside of his bottom lip, and he looked so lost and upset. Mike's face softened as he looked at the curly-haired man, but only for a second.

"I gotta go." Mike swallowed hard, staring down into his suitcase. He seemed to lose his trail of thought, and he had no idea what to pack next.

Micky walked into the room, and Mike glanced at him. Micky looked nervous and unsure, and Mike quickly looked away again.

"I don't want you to go." Micky whispered sadly.

Mike stared down into his suitcase, and he closed his eyes. _Why the hell did he have to say that?_

Mike took a deep, shaky breath. He finally looked up at Micky again, who was just staring at him.

"Why?" Mike asked quietly.

Micky looked so anxious, and now he was playing with his hands. "You-you know why."

Mike shook his head slowly. "It's better this way...if I go..." He said, staring at Micky.

Micky walked closer to him. "Do you wanna go?" He asked softly.

Mike continued to gaze at Micky, and Micky's face wore a small frown. Micky looked like he was forcing himself to be really brave, saying all the things he was saying, and it turned Mike's insides to mush.

"Don't do that..." Mike whispered, dropping his gaze.

Micky slowly walked up to Mike. Mike no longer dared look at Micky, instead he focussed his attention on the floor.

Micky was now right in front of Mike, and Mike's heart started thumping in his chest, just as it did every single time they shared a moment like this. He still kept his head hung and his eyes fixed on the floor - if he didn't look at Micky, Mike thought, then maybe he could control things better than he had done before. Maybe he wouldn't become so weak and powerless.

But then Mike felt a hand on his face. The contact made him gasp, and he felt Micky's finger and thumb gently grip his chin, lifting his head up until their eyes connected.

"I have to go." Mike whispered.

Micky shook his head slowly. "Please don't."

Mike swallowed. "I have to."

Micky moved even closer, and he rubbed the end of his nose against Mike's.

"Don't... _please_..." Mike pleaded in no more than a whisper.

"I want you to stay." Micky breathed.

"Why?" Mike choked.

"You _know_ why."

Mike sighed, closing his eyes for a second. He opened them to find Micky looking at him expectantly. Micky's eyes told Mike that he meant everything he was saying - he really didn't want Mike to leave. Even after the way Mike had treated him, he still didn't want Mike to go. Mike could hardly believe it. Micky was biting the inside of his lip again, his eyes filled with wonder. It was like he was pleading with Mike to stay. Mike thought Micky looked absolutely beautiful, his boyish face looked so lost and uncertain, and all Mike wanted to do was take him in his arms and tell him everything would be okay.

Mike breathed heavily, and he found himself reaching out. This time it was his turn to touch Micky's face. He gently stroked the side of his finger down Micky's cheek, noting how his skin felt just as soft as it looked.

Mike pulled his hand away. "We can't..." He whispered.

Micky simply stared at him, and it was as if he sensed Mike was going to make the first move. And Mike _did_ make the first move. He leaned forward and kissed Micky on the lips, a small, gentle kiss which he broke softly after only a few seconds. He pressed his forehead to Micky's, wondering how he managed to fall into this trap yet again.

"I _want_ you." Micky whispered.

Mike took a deep breath, those words igniting a fire inside of him. He leaned forward again, pressing his lips to Micky's once more. Micky's hands immediately wrapped around Mike's neck, and Mike followed suit by wrapping his arms around Micky's bare-back.

They kissed tenderly, their kiss slow and soft. Mike's fingers trailed down Micky's spine, and he felt Micky shiver beneath his touch. Mike moved his right hand up, losing it in Micky's curls; he loved the way those curls felt.

Micky's hands moved down Mike to the bottom of his t-shirt. Mike felt Micky un-tuck it and begin to pull it upwards. Micky broke the kiss just long enough to pull Mike's t-shirt over his head, and he tossed it on the floor before immediately attaching his lips to Mike's again, wrapping his arms around him like before.

Both of them noted how different it felt to be skin-to-skin with somebody, but have no breasts between them. They pressed their naked chests together, and Micky could swear he felt Mike's heart beating.

Micky moved his lips along Mike's jaw-line, and down to Mike's neck. Mike closed his eyes, his hands running up and down Micky's back as Micky gently sucked on the soft skin of Mike's neck.

"Please stay..." Micky breathed into Mike's skin.

Mike started to plant small kisses on Micky's naked shoulder, up his collar-bone before lifting Micky's head to kiss him on the lips again once more. Micky moved Mike backwards, and Mike felt the back of his knees hit the foot of his bed. He sat down, and Micky leaned over him. Soon they were both on the bed, Mike shuffling himself upwards, and Micky hovering over him.

The pair of them disappeared into a world of soft-kisses, gentle kisses that seemed to make each other's skin dance. The kisses were so delightful, they hardly realised how aroused they were. They laid side-by-side on the bed, kissing gently. Mike moved his hands to the waist-band of Micky's sweatpants, and he pulled them down. Micky was wearing nothing underneath.

Mike rolled on top of Micky, kissing Micky's neck. Micky kicked his sweatpants off the rest of the way, and Mike opened his eyes to take a look at Micky's naked body for the first time. He looked down at him, and the butterflies in his stomach seemed to multiply. Mike had seen Micky shirtless countless times, and he'd always been envious of the way Micky looked. Micky was skinny like Mike, but Micky had a better body than Mike did - or so Mike thought. Micky was toned in all the right places - skinny, but not scrawny. Mike saw himself as scrawny, and he was pale too. But Micky was tanned, and he had great legs. Mike looked at Micky and thought he was gorgeous. And then his eyes reached Micky's penis. Despite the fact that Mike had touched it already, he'd never looked at it properly. It was a weird sensation, looking at another penis like this. Mike didn't really understand how he felt or what he thought about it.

He looked up at Micky's face again, and Micky was blushing under Mike's intense gaze. Mike didn't want to hesitate for a moment, and quickly went back to kissing Micky once more. Soon Micky's hands got to work on ridding Mike of his pants, and Mike helped him by wriggling out of them. Micky shoved them down as far as he could, and Mike managed to kick them off the rest of the way. Now they were equal, both totally naked in each other's arms.

Micky rolled Mike off of him, so they were side by side again. They still kissed deeply, and Micky was the first to touch Mike's erection. He started stroking it, opening his eyes for a moment to look down at exactly what he was touching. Micky was aware Mike was big - he could feel it in his hand, after all. But actually seeing it almost took Micky's breath away - Mike was _huge_. Micky had never had any hang-ups about his own equipment, he'd always been quite proud of his own cock - it was slightly bigger than average, and he'd certainly never had any complaints from girls. But looking at Mike almost made Micky feel inadequate, because Mike was massive. Micky wondered if he'd ever seen a dick that big before.

Mike paused his kisses on Micky's neck, noticing that Micky was looking down at him with a shocked expression. Now it was Mike's turn to blush, wondering what on earth was going through Micky's head. But Micky snapped himself out of his thoughts and continued to stroke Mike, and he went back to sharing many more sweet kisses with the slightly older man.

It wasn't long before Mike took hold of Micky's erection and started stroking him slowly. This was totally different to their tryst a few days ago; that was so manic and messy, but this was so tender and soft...it was almost _loving_. Every touch seemed calculated and sure.

Micky moved on top of Mike, and Mike saw this as the perfect opportunity to get his hands on the ass he'd seen that afternoon. Mike wondered if it could possibly feel as good as it looked, and he run his free hand down Micky's back until he reached that mound, and he gently squeezed Micky's naked ass cheek. It certainly _did_ feel as good as it looked.

Micky seemed to respond well to the contact, and he loved the way Mike's strong hands felt on his body. He pumped Mike a little faster, pushing himself forward into Mike's hand as Mike continued his strokes in a similar fashion. Micky seemed to feel bolder with every touch, every stroke and every kiss. Mike was making him feel wonderful. His skin felt like it was dancing, and he was tingling from head to toe. He felt such a rush inside of him - he felt more alive than he could ever remember. He felt grateful, thankful that Mike was treating him like this. Mike's words could sometimes be harsh, but his hands right now were soft and kind. Micky started to wonder if perhaps Mike had genuine feelings for him the way Micky had feelings for Mike. This was _special,_ Micky thought. This wasn't some drunken fumble like the other night. This was _real._

Micky wanted to show his appreciation. Micky wanted Mike to feel as good as he possibly could. Micky was pretty sure Mike had been without sex for a long time, and he half-wondered if that had something to do with his foul mood-swings. Micky wanted to give Mike a reason to stay. Micky wanted to prove to Mike that this wasn't a stupid game, in his own special way.

Micky moved his lips to Mike's neck. Mike sighed contently, enjoying every moment of Micky on top of him. Micky's lips then moved down and started kissing Mike's chest. Micky continued to stroke Mike's length, and Micky's kisses started to move further down Mike's body. Mike was a little taken aback, and as good as it felt, he opened his eyes. He watched as Micky kissed down his chest, down to his stomach, moving himself down the bed. Micky's eyes were scrunched shut, and he had a look of uncertainty crossed with determination on his face. Actually, Mike couldn't really read Micky's expression at all. It took a little while for Mike to truly register what Micky was actually doing, and it was only when Micky's lips reached Mike's extreme lower-stomach that it dawned on Mike what was going on.

Micky slowly stroked Mike's long, hard cock, and still with his eyes squeezed shut, he guided it into his mouth. Mike could hardly believe it, and he watched as Micky wrapped his warm wet lips around the head of his penis, Micky's eyes squeezing even tighter shut as he did so.

Mike's head fell back against the pillow, unable to watch anymore. His hands were now free as Micky had moved down the bed and out of his grasp, so Mike immediately fisted the covers beneath him, gripping them violently. He wanted so much to lose a hand in the curly hair on Micky's head, but Mike was afraid if he tried to touch Micky, he'd vanish into thin air.

Mike felt Micky's lips slide down his shaft, a little less than half-way down. Micky still stroked the rest of Mike's penis, unable and unwilling to attempt to take the whole thing in his mouth at this stage.

It was awkward. It certainly wasn't an expert blow job, that was for sure. But it still felt _so good_. It had been so long since anyone had sucked Mike off, and the sensation felt incredible. Micky started bobbing his head, and he took a little more of Mike's cock in his mouth than he intended. Mike felt the head of his penis hit the back of Micky's throat, and Micky gagged slightly. But he resumed his sucking immediately, trying to mimic the blow jobs he'd received in the past. He knew what felt good on himself, so he tried to replicate that with what he was doing to Mike.

Mike disappeared. Mike drifted away. The more time went on, the better it felt. Micky seemed to find a rhythm, find a technique. Mike even wondered if Micky might've done this before. It felt delicious, or maybe that was because Mike hadn't received a blow job in such a long time - he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure about anything anymore. Mike drifted out of his body yet again, much like he had when they shared their first kiss.

Mike felt amazing. His whole body was dancing, and he started moaning. He could tell by Micky's movements that he was touching himself as well, and that only turned Mike on even more. This was the most surreal moment of Mike's life. No thoughts seemed to properly process in his brain; everything was a mess. Micky seemed to take Mike more and more into his mouth, or maybe Mike was imagining it. Mike could've sworn he heard Micky moan on to him, the same sort of moan Mike heard the other day when Micky was reaching his orgasm. The thought of Micky getting off while sucking Mike's dick sent Mike's head into even more of a spin than it was already. Micky's head started to bob even faster, and Mike was pretty sure he felt Micky's body lurch, and he wondered if Micky had just reached his climax.

And then Mike felt his balls tightening. He suddenly felt his orgasm approaching rapidly, and that was the first time he managed to properly understand the situation. He was about to blow his load, and he was about to explode into _Micky's mouth._ As good as it felt, and as much as he wanted to come into that hot, wet mouth, he knew there was no way he could let that happen. Before he knew it, Mike grabbed hold of Micky's hair, yanking his head up and off-of him.

Mike then rolled onto his side and exploded onto the covers beneath him. He flopped his head back down onto the pillow, breathing heavily. Mike's eyes were squeezed shut, trying to gather his thoughts.

Micky sat upright on the bed, his eyes wide. He looked at the mess Mike had made. He'd watched Mike come, watched how Mike exploded onto the covers beneath them, and he knew that a few seconds earlier that would've been straight down his throat.

Micky was in total shock. His mouth felt funny, and his head was a spinning. Micky had made a little mess of his own, jerking himself to his peak while he had his mouth stuffed full of Mike's cock. He couldn't believe he'd just done that, but he didn't regret it - as surreal as it felt.

Neither of them spoke. Mike laid on his side, facing away from Micky. Micky continued to sit there, staring at nothing. He moved his tongue around the inside of his mouth, and he could taste Mike. Mike may not have blown his whole load in Micky's mouth, but Micky had tasted his pre-come. Micky had managed to ignore it at the time, his concentration so fixed on what he was doing to pay attention to anything that went with it. But now he could taste it, he could taste _Mike, _and it wasn't as disgusting as Micky might've expected.

Micky didn't like the way Mike wasn't looking at him. Micky wanted Mike to wrap his arms around him, and maybe even tell him he'd done a good job. Micky physically cringed at the thought. _You want respect? You want to be thanked for sucking dick? What the hell?_

Finally, Mike sat up. He leaned over the side of the bed and picked up his boxers. He slid them on, his back still to Micky. He then picked up Micky's sweatpants, and he held his arm out to Micky, offering them to him - but he still didn't look at him.

Micky took the sweatpants from Mike, pulling them on quickly. He started to feel incredibly embarrassed. Micky rose to his feet, pulling his sweatpants up the rest of the way. He looked at Mike, who was now sitting on the edge of the bed.

Micky wanted Mike to speak so badly.

_Have I done wrong? Should I not have done that? Didn't he like it? Does he think I'm disgusting? Is he still going to leave?_

Micky figured Mike wasn't going to say anything. He felt dejected, and a part of him wanted to crawl out of the room with his tail between his legs.

"Does this mean you're going to stay?" Micky asked in a small voice without thinking.

Micky couldn't believe he'd just said that, and he cringed from his very core, wincing at his own pathetic, needy words.

"_No, it doesn't_." The voice in Mike's head answered for him.

"Yeah." Mike replied quietly. He then kicked himself for being so weak.

Micky felt a little more at ease. He remained silent, wondering if Mike was going to say anything else - but Mike was a man of very few words even at the best of times.

Micky scratched his head awkwardly. He felt that Mike's silence was probably his cue to leave, but he was desperate to make sure everything was okay.

"Do you want me to get you some clean covers for your bed?" Micky asked awkwardly, not knowing what else to say.

Mike still had his back towards Micky, but Micky could see Mike visibly cringe.

"No, I can do it." Mike replied.

"Okay..." Micky looked at the floor. He really wanted to talk about their situation, but he figured this wasn't the time. He felt tired, and he was embarrassed too, so he figured it was about time he called it a night.

Micky then left the room without another word, gently closing the door behind him. As soon as Mike realised he was alone, he leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. It had definitely gone too far this time.


	9. Chapter 9

Mike was absolutely appalled with himself. He was furious. Kissing was one thing, touching each other when drunk was another. But _oral sex_? How the hell had this happened? A week ago, everything was normal. Everything was fine. How the hell had it gotten to this?

Mike regarded himself as strong, as tough, as someone who wouldn't be influenced by anyone or anything - not even his own feelings. That's why he was so angry with himself. He couldn't get his head around how weak he became around Micky. It was as if Micky had some kind of control over him, and it was messing up Mike's head.

For the first time since these little 'episodes' with Micky begun, Mike let himself think about the implications this would have outside of his own head. Yeah, his head was a mess, and he was certain Micky's head was a mess too. But what about everything and everyone else? What if someone found out about this? What if someone had caught them in the act? What if this became public? That would be their careers over, that's for sure. Their careers were on the slide anyway - their movie had tanked last fall, their recently released album nobody seemed to give two-shits about. The fans they had left finding out that two of the three remaining band members had been fooling around with each other would certainly be the final nail in their coffin.

Not that Mike particularly cared what the public thought, though he knew Micky would; Micky cared about what everyone thought. But what about their families? Their friends? And then Mike thought about the fact that he was still technically married, and he had children. He was absolutely disgusted with himself. What would his children think if they knew their dad acted like a fag? What if Phyllis found out? She'd stop him from seeing his children for sure, Mike thought.

Mike felt ashamed. He felt dirty. Suddenly the realness of the past week started to dawn on him. Before he was too busy wrapped up in his on confusion, but at last he realised this was reality - and in reality, actions have consequences and repercussions. If this got out, Mike thought, his fucked-up thoughts and messed-up feelings would be the _least_ of his worries.

Mike knew he had to put a stop to this, whatever it was. Talking about it properly with Micky wasn't an option, not really. He was aware Micky had a hold over him, and Micky could make him expose himself in more ways than one. Mike didn't want to risk saying something he couldn't un-say. He knew exactly what he had to do - as much as he would hate doing it.

Mike sat waiting in the kitchen the next morning - he knew it'd only be a matter of time before Micky got up. He didn't know how he was going to look at Micky, and he tried his very best to block out the images in his head. He kept drifting off, remembering how last night felt. Not just the blow job, but _everything_. Being so close to Micky, holding him, touching him. Their naked bodies together, moving together, and their kisses...oh god, their _kisses_. Those wonderful kisses. When Mike looked back, he realised he felt human again. He felt alive. He didn't feel like a horrible person, like an asshole, not when Micky was holding him, touching him and kissing him like that. Mike felt good. He felt whole. But it wasn't real, not really. It couldn't happen again. It was _wrong_.

Mike didn't know how long he waited for Micky, but soon Micky emerged. Mike looked up at Micky as he walked in, and Micky's cheeks immediately burned red. Mike had to give Micky credit for showing his face after what had happened the night before.

Mike only looked at Micky for a second - he didn't dare look at him too long, and he felt uncomfortable enough being in the same room as him, let alone looking at his face. Mike sat there waiting, waiting for Micky to speak. He listened as Micky poured himself a drink of orange juice, and then silence followed.

The silence was painful. It hurt in every sense of the word.

"Can we talk about...everything?" Micky finally said, his voice sounding nervous.

"There ain't really nothin' to say." Mike responded.

"How can you say that?" Micky's voice was small and strained. "What about last night? And the other night?"

Mike closed his eyes for a second. "I was bored. It was stupid. You're were right; I ain't got laid in ages. It was just an experiment, it don't mean nothin'."

Micky was shocked. He didn't know what to say. He had no idea what he was expecting to hear, but he certainly didn't expect that.

Mike stood up, taking a deep breath. He faced Micky, though he didn't look him in the eye. "Look, if you're queer, that's your bag - but it ain't mine. So I suggest next time you're lookin' for some fun, you look elsewhere, 'cause I ain't interested."

Micky couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Don't try to make out it was all me, you- you wanted it too."

"I told ya, I was bored. I was bored and horny and you laid it on a fuckin' plate for me." Mike responded matter-of-factly.

"No, no, d-don't do that. Don't make out it was all me." Micky pleaded.

"You sucked my dick, you little slut. Picking up girls got too easy for ya, did it? You wanted more of a challenge so you thought you'd pick on straight men instead? Well it ain't gonna work anymore. You've had your fun, now leave me alone."

Micky was mortified. Mike's words cut like a knife and he felt totally and utterly humiliated.

Mike waited. Mike waited for Micky to argue back - Micky _always_ argued back. But instead Micky walked out without saying another word.

Mike slumped back down on his chair again, and he despised himself for being so cruel. It wasn't true. He didn't mean it. It wasn't fair. He put his face in his hands; he felt like crying. Seeing the hurt on Micky's face just now... _He_ did that. _He'd_ caused it.

Mike wondered how he could go back from this. He hoped that by playing it down, Micky wouldn't take it so harshly. Mike hoped he'd got the message across, and that Micky would stay out of his way from now on.

* * *

Micky and Mike run into each other later on. Mike walked in to find Micky in The Den. Micky was just sitting there, doing absolutely nothing. That was a shock to see; Micky was _always_ doing something. Micky wasn't one to just sit there doing nothing - he got bored too easily.

"Are you goin' to that bar opening tonight?" Mike asked Micky, trying to act all cool as if nothing had ever happened.

Micky was snapped out of his thoughts. "W-What?" He asked, his voice husky.

"That new bar in town, I can't remember what it's called. The 'Red' something-or-other." Mike replied as he looked through some of the records by the record player as if he was looking for something.

"'The Scarlett'?" Micky questioned.

"Yeah, that's the one. You goin'?"

"Uh yeah, I-I think so." Micky responded. Mike glanced at him, and he looked totally out of it - Mike figured he must've been stoned.

"Cool. I was thinking of goin' too. I'll probably see you there." Mike said coolly, and then walked out of the room.

Micky watched Mike walk out. He couldn't believe how cool Mike was being - it was as if everything was normal, as if nothing had ever happened. No kiss, no fooling around, no blow job - _nothing_. It was as if the things Mike had said to Micky earlier meant nothing. Or maybe they were so matter of fact that Mike was now happy that he'd gotten it off his chest.

Micky had never felt more embarrassed in his life. He was so humiliated he'd put himself out there the night before, to be rejected so coldly the next day. He'd _sucked_ Mike's _dick,_ and then been accused of being a slut, and being some sort of predator trying to turn straight men gay. And then Mike had the nerve to swan in and act like everything was fine and dandy.

Micky was also embarrassed that he'd let himself toy with the idea that Mike might actually care. Micky actually thought for a little while there that Mike had feelings for him. It made no sense - last night had been so intense. It wasn't a drunken fumble that was over and done with within minutes. Last night lasted for ages. It was passionate and it was tender and loving...or was it? Had it all been in Micky's head? Had Micky just imagined all the feelings that went with those physical actions?

Micky kicked himself. He wondered if that was how Mike got all those women when he was cheating on his wife. Had he tricked them into thinking he cared as well? Thinking they were special and different? Just so he could use them and ditch them straight away?

But Mike had never said anything to imply that he actually cared about Micky in any other sense than friendship. Hell, it wasn't even that often he acted like he cared about Micky in any sense.

Micky put his face in his hands. He felt so stupid, so dumb and so used. He was humiliated, and for the first time since these incidents with Mike had taken place, he felt dirty too. Mike really didn't give a shit about him, and he was an idiot for ever thinking any different.

* * *

That evening, Micky was at The Scarlett, the new club opening in town that people had been talking about for weeks. He wasn't really in the partying mood, but he felt obliged to attend - the owner of the bar was friends with a member of the bands management, and the owner was keen to have a few celebrity attendees.

Micky arrived early, keen to get some alcohol in his system to numb the feeling of hurt and humiliation that he was left with after his exchange with Mike earlier that day. He'd been sat at the bar for a couple of hours, accepting shots and free drinks from anyone who would offer, when Davy arrived.

"What's the matter with you?" Davy asked, noticing Micky didn't look his usual cheery self.

"Nothing." Micky knocked back another shot.

"Try telling your face that. You look miserable; I thought you'd be happy to be here."

"I'm fine."

Davy looked concerned as he wasn't used to seeing Micky anything but cheerful. "You don't look fine to me."

"Trust me Davy, you don't wanna know." Micky replied.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Micky shook his head. "Forget about it."

"Girl trouble?" Davy wondered.

Micky laughed sarcastically. "Something like that."

Micky stood up, and as he turned he knocked straight into a man who was holding two drinks, inevitably causing the drinks to spill everywhere.

"Watch it!" The man shouted furiously.

"Sorry man." Micky replied, part amused, part annoyed.

"Why don't you look where you're going?!"

"Take it easy man, there's no need to get your panties in a twist." Micky hit back.

That remark went down like a led balloon, and the man put his now half-empty glasses on the bar.

"What did you just say?"

"Cool it," Micky said, shoving his hand in his pocket and pulling out his wallet. He gave the man $5. "This should cover it."

Before the man had a chance to say anything else, Micky wandered off. His eyes scanned the room looking for any women that caught his eye. There were plenty of women there, but none really caught his fancy. He really wanted to get laid - not for the physical aspect, but because he wanted to remind himself he was a man, and prove to himself that he didn't need or want Mike.

As Micky's eyes searched the room, he noticed Mike enter. He was annoyed that Mike had showed up - usually he avoided these sorts of things. Mike would normally say he was coming and then bail at the last minute. Either that or he'd only show up for an hour before disappearing again.

Now more than ever, Micky wanted Mike to think he was fine. If Mike could swan around like he didn't give a shit, then Micky could too. Or that's what Micky wanted Mike to think.

Micky decided to snap himself out of his bad mood. He wore a wide grin, the grin that he was famous for, and he decided to be the Micky everyone expected him to be. He took a deep breath and shook his shoulders, trying to shake the negative thoughts and feelings out of his body and mind. He looked around quickly, and a pretty blonde girl caught his eye. The blonde immediately noticed him, and flashed a smile in his direction.

"_Maybe Mike's right_," Micky thought. "_Maybe it is too easy_."

Micky blocked out the thought of Mike, and approached the girl.

"Hi." He said confidently.

The girl smiled. "Hello."

Micky said nothing, he just continued smiling at the girl.

The girl laughed. "What?" She asked, confused.

Micky shook his head. "Nothing, I'm just thinking about life's big mysteries."

The girl looked even more confused. "Like what?"

"Like why a beautiful girl like you is sitting alone."

The girl smiled, looking down and shaking her head in disbelief. "That was smooth."

Micky knew his lines were cheesy, but they always worked. He held out his hand. "I'm Micky."

The girl shook his hand. "I'm Bella."

"Ah, a pretty name to match the face."

Bella laughed some more.

"Can I buy you a drink?" Micky asked.

Bella held up her glass - it was as good as full. "I'm good thanks."

"Well how about a dance?"

"I'm not sure my boyfriend would be too pleased about that..." Bella responded.

Micky looked around. "Well I don't see him around."

Bella smiled even more. "Maybe later."

"Is that a promise?"

"It might be."

Micky grinned, satisfied with that answer. He didn't normally pursue girls who were spoken for, but tonight he really didn't care much. Besides, if things with Bella reached a dead end tonight, he was fairly confident he would find someone else instead.

Micky walked off, confident that he was leaving Bella wanting more. He decided to head straight for the bar to get another drink.

* * *

As the night went on, Micky managed to cheer himself up. Or in actuality, he was just doing a really good job of blocking out the hurt he felt inside. Alcohol, good company and good music seemed to help.

Micky and Davy were chatting away, Davy seeming to forget about Micky's apparent bad mood earlier on.

"It looks like Mike might be in there." Davy said, changing the subject of the conversation and pointing behind Micky.

Micky turned around to see Mike talking to a pretty young lady the other side of the room.

"Look at the way she's playing with her hair," Davy continued. "If he plays his cards right, I think he's pulled."

Micky turned away, unable to look anymore. He suddenly felt sad and put-out - not to mention seriously pissed.

"I don't even remember the last time I saw Mike with a bird." Davy went on. "It's so stupid, when he was married he seemed to sleep with loads of women. Now he's a free agent he doesn't seem interested. What's that all about?"

Micky shrugged. "Beats me."

"Or maybe he just keeps things quieter now." Davy wondered, sipping his drink. "I mean, you'd know. Does he get much action?"

Micky was horrified. "How the hell should I know?"

"Because you live with him, you pillock." Davy replied. Thankfully he was a little too drunk to question Micky's defensiveness. "Does he bring many girls back?"

"Oh... Well, no. Not that I've noticed." Micky replied in relief.

"He's such an odd-one, Mike is. I can't work him out."

"Tell me about it..." Micky muttered.

"It doesn't look like Mike's the only one getting lucky tonight." Davy said with a smirk.

"Huh?" Micky wondered.

Davy gestured behind Micky. "It's that blonde you were talking to earlier. She can't stop staring at you."

Micky turned around and noticed Bella looking at him. She smiled at him, clearly keen for him to go over.

Micky smirked in satisfaction. He knocked back the rest of his drink, slamming the glass down on the table. "Excuse me, good sir."

Micky then marched over to where Bella was sat, but he didn't go right up to her. Instead he stood close by, waiting for her to make the first move.

Micky stood there, looking around the room, waiting patiently. He hadn't even been standing there long when Bella spoke.

"Aren't you doing to ask me to dance?" Bella questioned.

Micky grinned, stepping a little closer. "Won't your boyfriend have a problem with that?"

"Well he's not here right now. He went outside to have a smoke."

Micky held out his hand to Bella, which she gladly accepted. Bella rose to her feet, and Micky led her over to the dance floor.

The pair started dancing, and Bella looked at Micky with lust in her eyes. Micky knew that look - he'd seen it a hundred times. He wondered about this boyfriend of hers, but decided if it didn't bother her, it shouldn't bother him. He didn't particular care at that point.

Micky took hold of Bella's hips, pulling her closer. Bella seemed more than happy to respond, closing the gap between their bodies. Micky glanced past her, and he noticed Mike was still occupied with the pretty brunette he was talking to before. Micky couldn't see Mike's face properly from the angle he was standing and the light in the room, so he couldn't work out whether Mike looked into this girl or not. Micky was annoyed Mike hadn't even noticed him dancing with a girl. Micky wanted Mike to see him and Bella together, and to feel as shit as Micky felt at seeing Mike with the brunette.

"_But that's not going to happen_." Micky told himself. "_Because Mike doesn't give a shit about you or what you do. He couldn't care less if you ran off and married this girl tomorrow. He was bored, and he thinks you seduced him. He thinks you're a slut. You mean nothing to him._"

Bella cleared her throat. "I'm down here."

Micky tore his eyes off Mike, and looked down at Bella, who didn't look too impressed that Micky's attention seemed to be elsewhere.

Micky smiled, gently playing with the bottom of her hair. "So you are."

Bella seemed to forgive him, and gave him a small smile. But then it was Bella's turn to look over Micky's shoulder, and her face immediately dropped. She quickly let go of Micky, taking a step back.

Micky turned around, and was faced with the same guy he bumped into at the bar earlier - the same guy who wasn't too pleased Micky spilt his drinks.

"What the hell are you doing with my woman?" The man spat.

Micky turned his attention back to Bella, and he moved close, seeming to inspect her like he was looking for something.

"I don't see a label with your name on it." Micky said sarcastically.

The man stepped closer to Micky, obviously angry at his smart-ass attitude. "You think you're funny, huh?"

The man was slightly shorter than Micky in height, but he was certainly bigger than Micky in weight.

"I've been told I'm hilarious, actually." Micky continued, masking the fact he was a little intimidated.

"Look Johnny, it's not what it looked like." Bella said, trying to come between them.

"I think it's exactly what it looked like." Johnny replied, stepping closer to Micky.

"Listen pal, we were just dancing. It's not like I was screwing the girl or anything." Micky said.

Micky wasn't a fighter in the sense that he didn't pick fights. But if he felt he was being unfairly treated, or if someone pushed him hard enough, he was more than willing to fight back. Micky had a big mouth, and his inability to know when enough was enough had got him into several scrapes in the past.

Johnny shoved Micky in the chest, making Micky stagger back slightly. "I think you should shut your mouth."

"Look, I'm sorry, man." Micky said. "I didn't even know she had a boyfriend when I first talked to her."

"So you know I'm her boyfriend, huh?" Johnny asked, raising his voice. "You knew she belonged to me but you still thought you'd try it on, did you?!"

"You know, you should really stop talking about her like she's a possession." Micky hit back. "She's a woman, not a fucking cat. You don't own her."

"Don't tell me how to treat my girlfriend you little asshole!" Johnny shouted.

"Well maybe if you were a little nicer to her she wouldn't feel the need to come on to other guys." Micky said smugly.

"Are you calling my girl a slut?" Johnny snapped.

"I'm just saying, she was more than happy to dance with me even though she "belongs" to you!" Micky hit back. "So take from that what you will."

"Fuck you, man!" Johnny shouted, grabbing hold of Micky's shirt. "If you don't shut up I'll ring your scrawny neck!"

"Johnny, just leave it alone." Bella pleaded. "He didn't do anything wrong."

"He was all over you!" Johnny shouted.

Micky shoved Johnny in the chest, pushing him off of him. "Get over it, pal. We were just dancing."

"You wanted more than that." Johnny spat.

Micky shrugged. "Well I'm not going to get it now, obviously."

"You little asshole." Johnny lunged at Micky, grabbing the front of his shirt again.

Out of nowhere, Mike appeared. He was suddenly there, facing Micky and Johnny, who had Micky by the scruff of his shirt.

"Let go of him." Mike said calmly.

Johnny looked at Mike. "Who the fuck are you?"

"I ain't here for friendly introductions. I'm here to tell you to _let go_ of him." Mike said slowly, cool as anything.

Johnny shoved Micky, letting go of his shirt.

"This is none of your business." Johnny said, turning his attention to Mike.

"I'm makin' it my business." Mike said, his eyes narrowing.

"Leave it, Mike," Micky begun. "He's probably on his period or something."

Johnny flew at Micky, grabbing him by his shirt once more. This time he looked _really_ pissed. "What did you just say?!"

"It was a joke, it was a joke!" Micky held his hands up defensively, realising he'd gone a step too far.

Mike grabbed hold of Johnny, pulling him away from Micky. Mike squared up to Johnny, looking down on the shorter man. "If you touch him one more time I swear to God you will regret it."

Micky was shocked that Mike was defending him. Johnny seemed to take Mike's threat seriously, and he stepped back.

Johnny went to walk away. Mike shot Micky a disapproving look.

"Fucking idiot." Micky muttered, referring to Johnny. "That guy has a serious temper problem. Just because he doesn't know how to keep his women satisfied."

Micky was unaware that Johnny was still in ear shot, and before he knew it, he was being grabbed, and a fist came flying towards his face. It all happened so fast, and Micky winced, seeing a punch coming straight for him. But the punch never reached him, and when Micky opened his eyes he saw Mike had Johnny by the scruff of his shirt, and he shoved Johnny backwards, slamming him against the wall.

Mike pulled his fist back, braced to give Johnny a hard punch in the face. "What did I just say to you?" He said in a cold, hard tone.

Mike had no intention of hitting Johnny, but the threat alone seemed to get the message across. "He was after my girlfriend!" Johnny shouted.

"I was just dancing with her." Micky said in his defence. "Seriously, nothing happened. She's yours, I get it."

Mike let go of Johnny. Johnny then turned, grabbed Bella by the arm, and virtually dragged her off. Micky looked at Mike, and he felt a little embarrassed that they had seemed to gain quite a little audience. Micky couldn't understand why Mike had defended him like that. He was about to speak when he felt someone grab his arm.

"What the hell was that all about?!" Davy asked, having noticed the commotion.

"Some guy was pissed because I was dancing with his girlfriend. It's no big deal." Micky responded.

Micky turned to Mike again only to find he'd gone. Micky looked up and noticed Mike was on his way to the exit. Micky rubbed his head with his hand.

"And what did that have to do with Mike?" Davy asked.

Micky watched as Mike left the club, and now Micky's head was in a spin.

"Micky?"

Micky looked at Davy, who was staring at him blankly. "Huh?"

"Why was Mike getting all involved?" Davy questioned.

"I uh, I have no idea." Micky replied, scratching his head. "Look, I'm gonna split."

"What, why? Because of one dickhead?"

"I'm just not into this, man." Micky gave Davy a friendly pat on the arm. "I'll see you around."

Micky hurried out of the club, hoping to catch-up with Mike. When Micky got outside, Mike was nowhere to be seen. Micky sighed, leaning up against the wall. He was angry, and he felt a little put-out that Mike felt like he had to stick up for him, but he couldn't understand why Mike had done that in the first place.


	10. Chapter 10

Micky flagged down a cab and headed straight home. Once he was inside, he went straight for the kitchen, suddenly desperate for a glass of water. As always, as soon as Micky walked into the room, he found Mike sitting there at the table.

Micky paused upon seeing Mike. Mike didn't even bother looking up as Micky walked in.

"Why did you do that?" Micky asked.

Mike didn't answer. He just stared at his hands clasped together on the table.

"I just asked you a question."

Silence.

"I don't need you defending me." Micky went on. "You think I haven't been on the wrong side of disgruntled boyfriends before? It's the story of my fucking life."

"You need to learn when to keep your mouth shut." Mike said quietly, still looking at his hands.

"I could've handled him! You think I'm that much of a pussy that I can't look after myself, is that it?"

Mike went silent again, not once looking at Micky.

"Fuck you, man!" Micky's voice rose. "You and your stupid fucking mind games. What are you playing at, huh? What are you trying to do to me? You make out you don't give a shit about me, and then you pull a stunt like that? I thought you were going to flatten that guy! And why, because of me? For my benefit? I was being an asshole, I deserved a beating. So why did you defend me? Why?"

Mike carried on the way he was, just staring at his hands. He looked so sad, and Micky was reeling.

"Answer me." Micky said firmly.

Silence.

Micky strode up to the table, and he slammed both his fists down on to it, bending down and shouting into Mike's ear. "Answer me!"

Mike flinched, moving away from Micky slightly. He still looked ahead.

"He was going to hurt you." Mike finally replied in little more than a whisper.

"So? How is that your problem?" Micky stood up straight.

Mike was silent again.

Micky put his face in his hands. Mike glanced up at him, and he could see Micky was distressed.

"What are you trying to do to me?" Micky mumbled into his hands, almost to himself.

Mike looked up at him. "No, what are _you_ trying to do to_ me_?"

Micky emerged from his hands. "What?"

"Everything was fine, I was happy until you came along!" Mike said, his cool demeanour cracking. "We were happy, I weren't a cheat. I didn't cheat on my wife. We were fine the way we were, we were getting by, and then you come along and you screw everythin' up for me!"

Micky was dumbstruck. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"_You_!" Mike shouted, standing up. "You, coming into my life and screwing with my head! Why did you have to ask me to stay with you? Why couldn't you just leave me alone?!"

Micky's eyes were wide in shock and confusion, trying to process what Mike was saying, but failing to understand a word of it.

"I haven't done anything!" Micky shouted. "It was you, I was fine too, I was fine dealing with my shit, and then it was you, you fucking _kissed_ me! And now you're playing fucking mind games, messing with my head!"

"You made me do it, all of this is because of you!" Mike shouted, and Micky couldn't ever recall seeing Mike so unhinged. "Every fucking thing that is wrong with my life is all because of you."

"Why the hell are you blaming me for your shit?!" Micky yelled, incredulous. "I didn't ask you to cheat on Phyllis, I didn't ask you to get another woman pregnant, I didn't ask you to push away anyone who gives a shit about you, and I sure as hell didn't ask you to kiss me! What the fuck is the matter with you?"

"_You_ !" Mike said, grabbing hold of his head like he wanted to tear his hair out. "It's all because of _you_."

Micky tried to comprehend what Mike was saying. He stared at him, his own expression softening slightly. His heart was pounding in his chest, and his mind was reeling.

"How am I supposed to understand anything if you don't talk to me?" Micky asked, softer this time.

Mike stared at the floor, and it looked for a second like he was going to give in.

Micky watched Mike, hoping that he was going to open up and explain exactly what he meant. Micky had never been more confused, and he was scared too. As angry as he was, he started to soften. He cared so deeply about Mike, and he could see that Mike was in turmoil.

Micky approached Mike, reaching his hand out to gently touch him on the arm.

"Talk to me." Micky said softly.

Mike shrugged him off, shocking Micky. He squared up to Micky, looking him straight in the eye. "Fuck you."

Mike pushed past Micky, and Micky saw red. He grabbed Mike, much the same way Mike had grabbed Johnny earlier, and he shoved Mike against the wall - the same wall where they shared their first kiss.

"No!" Micky shouted in Mike's face. "I'm not going to let you do this to me! You're fucking with my head, you're freaking me out, you're treating me like I'm a piece of fucking shit! What did I ever do to you, huh? What did I ever do apart from try to be your fucking friend? And then you use me, you screw around with me, you let me suck your fucking dick, and then you make out it's some fucked-up game! And you know why I did all that shit, Mike? Do you?! Because for some reason I fucking care about you. I-I care about you, and you're...you're hurting me."

Mike stared at Micky. Mike's face turned from hard and cold into sad and guilty. His eyes furrowed, and he looked at Micky as if he had the heaviest heart in the world. Micky looked like he wanted to cry, and it killed Mike to see Micky in such despair and know he was the cause of it.

Mike took hold of Micky's hands that were holding on to his shirt, and Micky released Mike from his grasp. Mike looked down at Micky's hands, holding them in his own.

"I don't want to hurt you." Mike whispered, still holding Micky's hands.

"But you are." Micky choked.

Mike shook his head slowly, still not looking at Micky's face.

"Why did you defend me?" Micky's voice was shaking.

Mike's eyes moved from Micky's hands, up to his face. "Don't you get it, boy?"

Micky looked at Mike blankly, wonder filling his almond shaped eyes.

"Because I wanted to protect you." Mike replied, his eyes looking so sure and certain, as if he was trying to tell Micky something with his eyes alone. "I _want_ to _protect_ you."

Micky was confused, not sure he quite understood exactly what Mike meant. "From what?"

Mike dropped his gaze, and he looked down sadly.

Micky finally realised. The penny finally dropped. "From _you_?"

Mike was silent, his head hung to the floor.

"Mike..?" Micky whispered softly.

Mike held his gaze at the floor, before finally looking up. "We can't do this." He said regretfully.

"Why?" Micky choked, his voice almost squeaking.

Mike let go of Micky's hands, and he gently moved away from him.

"I...I don't understand." Micky scratched his head, his mind racing at a hundred miles per hour.

"Yes you do." Mike said, his voice sounding strong again. "You know exactly what I mean."

"Why don't we sit down and talk about things properly?" Micky asked, feeling now was the time to finally get things straight.

"There ain't nothing to say." Mike replied, realising he needed to toughen up. "This conversation is over."

"No, you can't just do that. You can't just say all that, talk in riddles, and expect me to just forget about it." Micky approached Mike. "We can talk about things."

"Micky, I said no." Mike said harshly. "There ain't nothing to talk about. We have been through this before, dammit. Everythin' that happened was a mistake. You're just a friend and someone I work with. You need to get over whatever is going on in your head, because I'm over it. I'm over all of this."

Micky felt more confused than ever. "But...but all that stuff, about wanting to protect me. You... I don't understand."

"There ain't nothing to understand, Micky. You don't have to worry about anythin' anymore. First thing in the mornin' I'm gonna start looking for somewhere else to stay until my house is finished."

Micky was shocked. "Why are you doing this?"

"Quit being so pathetic, Micky." Mike snapped. "We'll be happy to see the back of each other."

"You're such a fucking dick." Micky spat, feeling angry and upset. "You're crazy."

"Then you'll be happy to have me gone then, won't you?" Mike said bitterly, and he walked out.

Micky stood there perplexed. He couldn't understand why Mike was constantly blowing hot and cold. The way Mike looked at Micky sometimes warmed Micky's heart. But then Mike's words could be so cruel and harsh. Mike made Micky feel incredibly small, but sometimes he could also make Micky feel special.

Micky tried to process things. He poured himself the glass of water he craved and sat in the kitchen for a while trying to work out his next move. Maybe Mike was right - maybe him moving out really would be for the best. But then what? Would they both be able to meet up as pals and act like everything was fine and normal? Micky couldn't help feeling that if he let Mike leave now, that would be it.

* * *

Mike sat on his bed. He was horrified about how the night's events had unfolded - this wasn't what he planned at all. He felt like he was losing control of the situation, and he didn't like it. He hated hurting Micky even more, but he felt there was no other way.

Mike was surprised to see his bedroom door open, and in walked Micky. Mike's heart sunk when he saw Micky - he didn't feel like he had the strength for another argument, or to deal with Micky pleading with him or trying to reason with him.

But Micky seemed to have renewed energy, and he looked sure. Smug, almost, and he stood there with his arms folded.

"You know, I didn't have you pegged as a coward." Micky begun casually, and Mike was surprised - that's not exactly what he expected Micky to say. "Always running away when things get tough. You make out I'm the pussy, but at least I'm not afraid to talk about my feelings. But you, you just run away. You can't handle it. You think you can just act all mean and moody and you'll get your own way, instead of dealing with the real issue."

Mike was shocked and insulted, and he stood up, staring at Micky.

"The whole tough guy act is getting old. You think you can call all the shots, but you're really just a sissy. You're a control freak, and you think you're in control now - but you're not."

Micky was smug, trying to play Mike at his own game.

"Is that right?" Mike asked. Micky could tell by his face that he was angry.

"You're not in control at all. You certainly weren't in control last night when I was sucking your dick." Micky said arrogantly, walking right up to Mike. "I bet you hated that, me making you moan. Me making you come like that. And that's why you're being an asshole now, because you think that's going to put me off. But actually, I find the whole smouldering hard guy routine kind of a turn on."

"Shut up." Mike said, his tone low and angry.

"Why? Because the truth hurts?" Micky smiled sarcastically. "Or because you don't think you'll be able to control yourself with me again?"

Mike looked mortified. "I mean it. Stop."

"It's not nice, is it?" Micky questioned. "Being played at your own game."

"I ain't playing games."

"What do you call it then?" Micky confronted. "Blowing hot and cold, making out you care one minute and then trying to hurt me the next."

Mike remained silent, and he just stared at Micky.

"It's okay to be scared, you know." Micky said, unable to keep up the prize-bitch act any longer. "I'm scared too."

"I ain't scared." Mike's gaze faltered.

"You're a liar." Micky breathed.

Mike looked up. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"I'm trying to help you, I know you seem to think I'm the problem but we're in this together." Micky assured him.

"We ain't in anything together."

"Yes we are. We have done stuff...we've done physical stuff. I've never done anything like this with any other man before, and I'm pretty sure you haven't either."

"Of course I haven't."

"Then why don't we help each other?" Micky asked. "I'm scared, I'm confused...I have no idea what I'm doing. I have no idea what's going on, but you...you're just making things even more complicated."

Mike closed his eyes, and he sighed deeply. He looked emotionally drained. "I'm tired...I can't do this." He said wearily.

Micky nodded his head slowly, feeling he might've pushed Mike enough for one night. "Okay." He sighed. "I'm tired too."

Mike rubbed his brow, and he looked a mess. He was already dressed for bed in pyjama pants and a t-shirt, and he walked around the side of the bed.

"Will you close the door on the way out?" Mike asked Micky.

Micky nodded. Mike climbed into bed, and Micky went towards the door. Micky closed the door, only he remained inside the room. He then walked back towards the bed. It took Mike a moment to register that Micky hadn't left.

"What are you doing?" Mike asked as Micky unbuttoned his pants.

Micky slipped out of his jeans, tossing them onto the couch, and he walked around the other side of the bed. "I'm going to bed."

Mike was stunned when Micky pulled back the covers and climbed in bed next to him.

"What about your own bed?" Mike questioned, confused and unsettled by Micky's actions.

Micky turned off the lamp and laid down next to Mike. Micky looked at Mike through the darkness.

"I want to stay with you." Micky replied softly.

"Why?" Mike asked, uneasy. He was too tired and drained to protest too much.

"Because you're sad and I don't want to leave you on your own." Micky answered gently, his voice soft and calm.

Mike's heart fluttered, and suddenly the feelings of nervousness seemed to evaporate. Mike felt hideously guilty for his treatment of Micky, and he couldn't believe that Micky still wanted to be anywhere near him.

"Oh..." Mike responded, having no clue what to say next.

Mike moved from his half sitting position, sliding himself down the bed so he was laying flat on his back with his arms folded defensively across his chest. Micky laid on his side next to him, still looking at Mike through the darkness. Mike was still a little uncertain having Micky with him, and he battled inwardly with himself. He knew it was wrong - this erased all the work he'd been trying to do since last night. His attempts at pushing Micky away seemed to be failing miserably, and he kicked himself for not shouting at Micky, for not telling him to get the hell out of his bed and out of his room. But Mike couldn't do that. Once again he was powerless. Micky was right; Mike wasn't in control at all.

But for all the demons inside of Mike, and all the voices screaming at him inside his head, Mike felt strangely comforted having Micky beside him. And then Micky rolled over, facing away from Mike, and settled down for sleep. Mike glanced over at him, and he was aware Micky was still trying to give him space even though they were in the same bed together.

Mike remained lying on his back, his eyes becoming accustomed to the darkness. He stared at the ceiling, wondering how on earth he got himself into this mess.

"Mike?" Micky whispered after a few minutes silence.

"Mm?"

"I'm sorry." Micky whispered, still facing away from Mike.

Mike was puzzled. "What for?" He asked softly, turning to look at the back of Micky's head.

"For being a dick." Micky replied quietly. "I was only trying to get back at you."

Mike sighed, looking to the ceiling again and closing his eyes. "I'm sorry too." He whispered.

Micky smiled to himself, pulling the covers up and getting himself comfortable. His eyes suddenly felt incredibly heavy, and within a few minutes he drifted off to sleep.

Mike remained lying on his back, and the room seemed deadly silent until the sound of Micky's steady breathing seemed to fill the air. Mike glanced across at Micky again, and it was apparent he'd fallen fast asleep. Mike could hardly believe that Micky was able to switch off so quickly, especially after the tension and all the things they'd said to each other.

Mike wasn't able to switch off so easily though. Mike envied Micky. He didn't know exactly what was going on in Micky's head, but from the way Micky spoke, it seemed to be a simpler place than Mike's crowded mind. Mike kept thinking about Micky's words, Micky saying that he cared about him. Micky wanting to talk about things. Micky sleeping in the same bed as him despite Mike's horrible behaviour.

Mike couldn't understand it. It seemed that Micky had feelings for Mike. Genuine, real feelings. That thought was so hard for Mike to get his head around. Maybe Micky just felt sorry for him, Mike wondered. What would somebody like Micky ever see in someone like him?

A short time later, Micky stirred, and he rolled over. He was fast asleep, but he was trying to get himself comfortable. Micky shuffled closer to Mike, and Mike instantly tensed up. Micky then flopped right over, half on to his stomach, and in turn rolling even closer to Mike. As Micky did so, he draped his arm across Mike's chest.

Mike stiffened. Micky was incredibly close to him now. Micky seemed to settle, finding his place of comfort, and he drifted off into heavy sleep. Micky's body was pressed up against Mike, and Mike could see Micky's sleeping face perfectly. Mike glanced down at Micky's arm that was lying across his chest.

Mike felt uneasy. Although they had shared several intimate moments now, they had never slept together. Being next to each other, sleeping, seemed like a huge step. Micky was so vulnerable next to Mike, sleeping perfectly. Mike couldn't help but watch him, and Micky seemed at perfect peace.

Micky was sound asleep now, breathing heavily. He was so close to Mike that Mike could feel Micky's breath hit his shoulder. It all seemed to become so peaceful and quiet. It was soothing. It was almost as if the outside world disappeared. Mike wondered what it'd be like if outside didn't matter, if it was just him and Micky. What would happen then? What would happen without the outside world looking down on them, frowning upon them?

Mike watched Micky. Micky looked so beautiful when he slept, and Mike felt strangely honoured that he got to witness this sight first-hand. Mike then hesitantly lifted his arm, and he cautiously and carefully wrapped it around the curly haired man. Micky stirred at the contact, and Mike's heart started to race, fearing he'd woken Micky. But Micky only shuffled even closer to Mike, and Micky sort of moulded himself into the Texan.

Mike could've sworn he saw a small smile press against Micky's lips, but maybe he imagined it. Mike felt his body relax at the contact with Micky, and he gently tightened his hold on the younger man. Mike suddenly felt a contentment he hadn't felt in months. Actually, Mike couldn't recall feeling this content before. Mike gained confidence, and he turned on his side slightly, and ended up wrapping both his arms around Micky's slim frame, enveloping him in an enormous hug. It wasn't long before he too drifted off to sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

Micky woke first the following morning. He rolled over to see Mike sleeping beside him. Micky blinked hard, and when he opened his eyes again he half expected Mike to be gone - but there he was, more calm than Micky had ever seen him.

Micky moved closer to Mike, and watched him as he slept. Micky could hardly believe he'd been bold and brave enough to get into bed with Mike in the first place. He'd been so nervous, and he was afraid Mike would fly off the handle - but Micky hadn't wanted to leave Mike on his own. Micky couldn't stand the thought of walking away from him. Everything Mike had said to him the night before was still ringing in his ears. Micky was trying to make sense of it, but he was also trying to make sense of his own feelings.

What did Micky want from Mike? What did he expect? Micky was aware he'd been pushing Mike quite hard, but Micky felt that was fair. How could things get resolved if they couldn't even communicate properly? Micky felt like he was going out of his mind, totally perplexed that they could be at each other's throats one minute, and then sleeping soundly together the next.

Watching Mike sleep like this made things seem so simple, but when Mike woke up again Micky knew it would go back to being this complicated, messed up situation that neither of them could make sense of. But Micky was satisfied that he'd spent the night in Mike's bed without Mike pushing him out onto the floor, or smothering him with a pillow, or going and sleeping in the garden just to get away from him.

Micky gently touched Mike's hair. He stroked it softly, careful not to wake him. Without thinking, Micky moved closer, and he planted a tiny kiss on the tip of Mike's nose. Mike stirred instantly, and Micky pulled away quickly. Mike's eyes flickered open, and it took him a moment to process that Micky was lying next to him.

"Hi." Micky smiled nervously.

Mike rubbed his eyes, stretching slightly, trying to get his head around things. "Were you watchin' me sleep?"

Micky panicked. "N-No. I haven't been awake long."

Mike sat up, rubbing his eyes again.

"You don't have to get up yet, it's still early." Micky said in a hurry. "I can go if you want."

"I need to take a shower." Mike protested.

"Okay..." Micky sat up. "But first, I've been doing some thinking."

Mike closed his eyes, sighing deeply.

"My buddy Billy has got a new place in Vegas," Micky started.

Mike looked at Micky, wondering where this was going.

"He's been bugging me about going to stay with him for weeks. So I was thinking I'd go see him for a while, maybe a few days, or whatever." Micky continued.

"Oh right." Mike said, a little surprised.

"Because, well...you were saying last night that you were going to find somewhere else to stay until your house is done," Micky went on. "And well, I think that's a really stupid idea. Because, you know, people will ask questions. They'll wonder why you've been living here fine for months, but you're now finding somewhere else...it seems kinda dumb, people might think it's weird. So... if you want to get away from me, well...I'm helping you out by getting away from _you_."

Mike scratched his head. "You don't have to leave because of me."

"I think it'll do us good, you know, to have some time apart from each other..." Micky looked down. "I think it's what we need."

Mike was shocked Micky felt that way, seeing as it was Micky who was constantly wanting them to 'talk'.

"We've got some stuff to think about, to figure out... I'll see if I can get a flight later today."

"Today?" Mike questioned.

"Well yeah, what's the point of waiting around?" Micky asked. "Last night you couldn't wait to get away from me. Things have been so tense lately... I think we both need a break."

Mike nodded slowly. "Yeah...maybe."

"So, this way, you don't have to move out." Micky glanced at Mike, hoping that would be the case.

Mike looked thoughtful. He was silent for a little while, considering what Micky was saying. He did have a point.

"You ain't said anything to anyone, have you?" Mike asked, looking at Micky. "About...anything."

"Come on, I know I have a big mouth but give me some credit." Micky replied, a little put out.

"Sorry. I ain't accusing you, I just had to ask."

Micky was silent. He climbed out of bed and picked up his jeans from the couch.

"I guess I should make some calls."

Mike nodded slowly. "Right."

Micky left the room, leaving Mike to it. Mike slumped back down in bed, running his fingers through his hair. He knew Micky was right; some time apart would do them good. At least Mike could guarantee there'd be no more 'slip-ups' while Micky was away, because Micky wouldn't be there to tempt him. At the same time though, Mike was strangely sad about the thought of not seeing Micky for a few days.

* * *

Early that afternoon, Mike was sat in the den when Micky walked in.

"So, I managed to get a flight." Micky announced, and Mike looked up. "It's in a couple of hours, so I'm going to head off now."

"Okay. Cool." Mike responded.

"I did think about driving, but knowing me I'd probably end up getting lost." Micky laughed awkwardly. "So best to just fly. Quicker as well."

"Yeah." Mike didn't really know what to say.

"Billy said I could stay with him as long as I want, so..." Micky trailed off, looking down at a piece of paper in his hand. "I wrote down his number, so you can call if you need me. I don't mean need me, but like, you know, if there's a problem or anything."

Mike looked at Micky blankly.

"Like if somebody breaks in or something." Micky continued awkwardly, his words seeming to get faster and faster. "Because that'd be just my luck if someone broke in while I was away. Not that I could do much if I was here, but you never know. The burglars might take one look at me and think, "damn, I don't want to get on the wrong side of that guy!" because obviously I'm quite an intimidating force to be reckoned with..."

Micky laughed nervously. Mike looked at him, finding it painfully obvious that Micky was uncomfortable. To anyone else, Micky would've seemed fine - but Mike knew him better than that.

"So yeah." Micky walked over and put the piece of paper with Billy's phone number on the table. "It's there if you need it."

Mike smiled weakly. "Thanks."

"Right...so...I better be going. Don't have too much fun while I'm gone."

"I doubt it." Mike replied.

Micky smiled sadly, and then turned to walk out.

"Micky?"

Micky turned around.

"Be good."

"I'm Micky Dolenz, of course I'll be good."

Micky flashed Mike a wicked smile and gave him a wink to suggest that he was going to be far from good. It was convincing, so convincing that Mike wondered if maybe Micky was totally fine after all.

As soon as Micky turned his back on Mike, his face fell. His heart sunk into the pit of his stomach as he walked out, and suddenly he couldn't get away fast enough.

It was only when Micky sat down on the plane that the realness of his situation with Mike struck him properly for the first time. Suddenly he understood why Mike had been running away this whole time, and why Mike refused to talk about things. It was messed up. This wasn't a normal situation to be in. Micky's life had been pretty simple and pretty straight forward up until things started happening with Mike, but now he felt totally out of his depth.

Micky tried to push his feelings for Mike to one side, and view the situation from a different perspective. Mike was a man. Micky suddenly wondered what people would think of him if they knew he'd sucked a man's penis. His family, his friends, his fans? What would they think of him if they knew what he'd been up to?

And then there was the small fact that this man happened to be his band mate. And he was married. _And_ he had children. Micky had been blinded the entire time, only thinking about the way he felt and not thinking about all the mess and carnage that came from feeling how he felt. Or not so much how he felt, but the actions caused by how he felt.

Micky started to feel more scared than he'd felt throughout this entire mess. As confused and unsettled as he had been, he now felt fear on a whole new level. Micky had been in relationships, but he'd never been involved in anything complicated. Everything was always clean and mess-free, and he was rarely stressed by his relationships with women. Micky realised that's because none of these relationships were serious, and none of them particularly mattered to him.

But this thing with Mike was messing Micky up in a way he'd never been messed up before. This was far more complex, far more grown up and far more dangerous than he'd ever experienced in his life before. He knew what he wanted, but that didn't seem to be the same as what was right. But what _was_ right? Micky knew what was right for everyone else, and maybe what was right for Mike, but was it right for him too? Could he really just pretend his feelings didn't matter for the sake of everything and everyone else? But what was the alternative, what did Micky _actually_ want? To be in a relationship with Mike? A relationship with a man who was so guarded Micky sometimes felt like a total stranger to him?

* * *

Micky only planned on staying in Vegas for three days or so, but he ended up staying for six. The truth was, he couldn't face going home. He was worried about what Mike would say when he saw him again - or what Mike wouldn't say.

Micky tried to make sense of the thoughts and feelings floating around his mind and his body. He tried to understand them, and to figure out what to do with them. Everything seemed so mixed-up, so complex. Micky was still out of his depth. Being away from Mike strangely seemed to make things harder. Micky missed Mike, which was another thing he couldn't understand. Micky didn't miss the tension, or the arguments, or the awkwardness, even though that's what his whole relationship with Mike had seemed to become.

Micky knew he couldn't stay in Las Vegas forever. He'd tried to have a good time - he'd partied hard almost every night, getting himself wasted in an attempt to give himself a break from the shit in his head. But he always woke up the next morning feeling even worse than before.

Finally Micky headed home. He hadn't spoken to Mike the entire time he'd been away. He'd sort of hoped that Mike would've called him - but he didn't. Micky had no idea how Mike would be around him once he was home. Micky could only hope that they could actually sit down together and have a proper conversation about what was or what wasn't going on between them. Micky was a talker, and he wasn't used to dealing with things on his own - he needed help, and Mike was the only one who could help him.

It was early evening when Micky finally arrived home. He felt sick with nerves, wondering if Mike was going to be happy or sad to see him. Micky walked in to find Mike watching TV.

Mike looked up, surprised to see Micky walk in.

"Hi." Micky smiled nervously.

Mike stood up, clearly not expecting to see Micky. "Hey. How was Vegas?"

"Good, yeah. It was great." Micky replied.

"Cool."

Micky chewed the inside of his bottom lip nervously, feeling a mixture of emotions seeing Mike again.

"What was Billy's place like?" Mike asked, he too feeling uncomfortable but trying to power through it.

"Oh it was awesome." Micky replied, thinking maybe Mike showing an interest was a positive sign. "Really groovy, not too far from the strip."

"That's cool." Mike nodded slowly. "How was the flight?"

"Fine, yeah…fine." Micky replied. "How've you been?"

"Good. I actually got to see the boys all weekend."

Micky's face lit up. "That's great."

"Yeah…I took 'em out, we went to the beach. It was nice spending some proper time with them."

Micky smiled. "That's groovy."

Silence followed, and Mike shifted nervously on his feet.

"I just started makin' dinner. It's only spaghetti but there's enough to go 'round if you ain't eaten already."

"Oh cool, thanks." Micky replied. "I was just going to take a quick shower."

"Well it'll be about 20 minutes." Mike replied, and Micky noticed he was blushing slightly.

"Cool. Well…I won't be long."

"Okay."

Micky gave Mike a small smile, and he headed upstairs with his bag.

Micky jumped in the shower, a jumble of emotions running through his body. Seeing Mike was awkward, but it could've been worse. It was never going to be totally normal, Micky thought.

When Micky returned downstairs, Mike was already in the kitchen eating.

"Yours is on the stove."

"Thanks." Micky walked to where the pan of spaghetti sat on the stove.

Mike watched as Micky dished himself up some food, and he could tell Micky was feeling just as uncomfortable as he was.

Micky sat down opposite Mike. Silence filled the room, with the exception of their forks hitting their plates.

"So Vegas was good then." Mike broke the silence.

"Yeah, it was pretty wild."

"You gamble?" Mike asked, trying to act like he wasn't concerned. The truth was, he'd been worrying about Micky from the moment he left. Vegas was like the party animals playground, and he didn't like the idea of Micky let loose in a place like that.

"A little." Micky replied, filling his mouth with spaghetti. "I didn't go crazy though."

Mike nodded, looking down into his food. "The women are great in Vegas."

"Yeah…" Micky responded awkwardly. "There's some real babes."

Mike was silent for a moment, chewing his food - and his thoughts. "Did you get lucky?" He finally asked.

Micky cringed at the question, not knowing how to answer. He wondered why Mike was interested, hoping maybe it was because he was jealous, but Micky figured he should at least be honest.

"Yeah, there was this one girl." Micky replied, not looking at Mike. "We fooled around a bit."

Mike's heart sank. "Cool."

Micky started pushing his food around his plate, unable to look at Mike. He felt guilty, like he'd betrayed Mike somehow - even though Mike didn't know the full story.

"I hooked up with someone too." Mike announced, causing Micky to look up. "A girl I met at The Scarlett last week. I called her, took her out…brought her back here."

"Oh right." Micky was totally stunned. As far as Micky was aware, Mike hadn't been with a woman in months. "Was she good?" He asked in his attempt to sound interested.

"She was great." Mike replied, still looking down at his food.

"Groovy…" Micky looked down again.

Silence followed.

Micky knew he had no right to judge Mike for getting laid, but he still found it a huge kick in the balls. He felt hurt, and he felt betrayed. He suddenly started feeling sick to his stomach.

"Are you going to see her again?" Micky asked after a few moments silence.

"Maybe." Mike shrugged. "I don't know."

"Well you should, you know, if you like her." Micky tried to sound convincing.

"Yeah...maybe I will."

Micky started pushing his food around his plate, feeling more uncomfortable than ever.

Mike cleared his throat. "Things have been a bit messed up lately." He started cautiously. Micky looked up. "I know I ain't made things easy... I didn't expect you to be gone so long. I thought you'd only be a few days. I really hope I didn't make you feel like you didn't want to come home."

Micky looked down again. "You didn't." He lied.

"I'm sorry I've been a jerk." Mike continued, using all his strength to sound as confident and assured as possible. Mike used his fork to play with his spaghetti, trying to think of the right words to say.

"It doesn't matter." Micky replied, still looking down at his food.

"I've been thinkin' a lot. I'm sure you have too." Mike went on. "Everythin' that's happened...well, it's all been a mistake. _Mistakes_. I ain't...gay. And neither are you. Of course you ain't. And well, we're friends. I know I don't treat you like it sometimes, but you're probably the best friend I have. I don't want anything to change that."

"No...me neither." Micky wasn't sure what to say.

Mike was hesitant, and Micky felt he knew exactly where this was going. "It's just things have got so...blurry, I guess. I 'spose what I'm tryin' to say is, we just need to-"

"Forget anything ever happened?" Micky finished Mike's sentence for him.

Mike looked up. He nodded his head. "Yeah...that's exactly it."

"Right." Micky looked down again. "That's exactly what I was going to say too."

"Oh good." Mike sounded a little surprised.

"I mean, you're right. We're not gay. We're not like that." Micky said, forcing a laugh.

Mike didn't find anything amusing, but he was satisfied Micky seemed to be on the same page. "I've been in a bad place, you know...I don't know what's goin' on with my marriage. I don't know if she's gonna end up divorcin' me or give me another chance... It's all real complicated. My head ain't been right. I just think it'd be best if we forgot about everythin' and went back to normal. I mean, we have to work together as well."

Micky swallowed hard. "No, I totally get it." He looked up, forcing a smile to say he was "totally cool" with the situation. "It's all groovy. Let's pretend nothing ever happened."

"Right." Mike nodded. "So...we're good?"

"Yeah, sure we are." Micky forced a smile, but he was now feeling really, really sick.

"Good." Mike gave a small smile, and took another fork full of spaghetti.

"Groovy..." Micky started pushing his food around his plate once more, his stomach doing somersaults.

Silence fell upon the table once more. Mike continued to eat, and then he glanced up at Micky after a minute or so.

"Ain't you eatin' that?" Mike questioned.

It took Micky a moment to register. "Uh...it's really good, seriously. I uh, I just don't feel so good."

Mike felt uneasy. "I hope I ain't...I dunno..." He trailed off.

"Don't be stupid." Micky tried to act casual. "I've felt ill since the plane. It was a rough flight."

Mike looked up with a confused frown. "You said the flight was fine."

Micky panicked. "It was...I mean, it was just a rough landing."

Micky then dropped his fork to his plate, put his hand to his mouth, got up, and dashed out of the room.

Micky hurried straight to the bathroom down the hall and threw up. The flight had been fine, but Micky had worked himself up into such a state it made him physically sick.

"Are you alright?"

Mike's voice shocked Micky, and he turned around to see Mike standing in the doorway of the bathroom looking incredibly concerned.

"I'm fine." Micky assured him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I hope my cookin' weren't that bad." Mike forced a laugh.

"No, no...it was fine." Micky flushed the toilet. "Too much partying I guess. I'm 24 soon, I guess I'm getting too old to handle it."

Mike was genuinely worried about Micky, and he hoped that Micky was seriously fine with them agreeing to forget about things.

"I think I'm just gonna go to bed." Micky rubbed his head.

"Oh...okay." Mike replied sadly.

Micky forced a weak smile before walking past Mike and heading upstairs.

Mike put his face in his hands. He rubbed his eyes. He was stressed and he was hurting. He had to believe Micky was alright, that Micky really was just a bit sick from all the partying or the flight, or both. Mike was a little distressed at the thought of himself making Micky sick with worry or hurt or whatever the hell it was. Maybe Micky was just sick with disgust, sick at the sight of seeing Mike again and being reminded of the things they had done.

Mike went back to the kitchen where he ended up sitting for hours. As relieved as he was that he and Micky had apparently cleared the air and gotten things sorted out at long last, he was far from happy.

* * *

The following day, Micky only saw Mike for long enough to tell him he was going out and "not to wait up". Micky stayed out all night, and all of the day after that. Mike couldn't help but worry, although he kicked himself for it. Micky was a grown man, Mike told himself, and he could do whatever he liked.

Mike heard Micky get in late that night, but he didn't see him until early afternoon the next day. Mike went upstairs to find Micky in the main bathroom, rummaging through the cupboard above the sink. Mike wondered what Micky was doing, as he normally used his own en-suite bathroom.

"What you lookin' for?" Mike questioned, standing in the doorway.

"Do you have any Aspirin?" Micky asked. He then realised it was a dumb-question, as Mike never took any kinds of tablets.

Mike stepped into the bathroom. There on the shelf in the cupboard, right in front of Micky's eyes, sat the Aspirin. Mike reached past Micky, picked it up, and handed him the little tub.

"It was right in front of ya."

"Oh...thanks." Micky took the Aspirin. He tipped a couple into the palm of his hand, popped them both into his mouth and swallowed them dry.

"Rough night?" Mike asked.

"Yeah." Micky pressed his fingers against his temple as if he had a splitting headache.

"You have a good time?"

"I think so." Micky replied.

"You don't remember?"

"No, not really." Micky scratched his head.

"What, you don't remember _anything_?" Mike was a little concerned.

Micky looked at Mike. "No,_ why_?" Now it was Micky's turn to worry, wondering if he'd done or said anything stupid when he got home.

"No reason." Mike quickly assured him. "It's just you get so out of it, you don't seem to know what you're doin'..."

Micky caught on. "And you're worried I said something."

Mike felt uncomfortable. "Well you can't blame me, Mick."

"I'm not totally stupid, you know." Micky was a little annoyed. "There's nothing to say anyway, is there?"

Mike felt even more uneasy at seeing how put-out Micky had become. "If you don't remember anythin', how can you be so sure you said nothing? You get so wasted, you don't know when to draw the line. I'm just sayin'."

"I wouldn't say anything about anything. Why would I? It's not like I keep thinking about it or anything. I don't think about you at all. I go out to have fun, to have a good time, maybe even pick up a chick. Why the hell would I say anything about you, even if I was wasted?"

Mike felt embarrassed that he'd brought it up. "Well..."

"Forget about it. I have." Micky said rather harshly. "Your dirty little secret is safe with me."

Micky walked past Mike and out of the bathroom. Mike rubbed his neck, feeling a little guilty although he believed his fears to be justified. Micky would get himself into such a state, who's to say he wouldn't say something he shouldn't? But then maybe Micky was right, and he was totally over it. Maybe it was so insignificant to Micky now that it was all forgotten, and it wouldn't even cross his mind when he was out with his friends having a good time.

Mike felt both comforted and saddened by the thought of Micky simply "forgetting" everything that had happened between them. Although it was what Mike had asked for, it still hurt him.


	12. Chapter 12

Later on, Mike found Micky lying on the couch in front of the TV. Micky was a little annoyed upon seeing Mike walk in, as he'd assumed Mike was out.

Mike sat down on the other chair, and he looked at Micky.

"I'm sorry about earlier. I weren't accusing you of nothin'." Mike said awkwardly.

"Don't sweat it." Micky replied, eyes still fixed on the TV.

"Well I'm glad we're cool." Mike said with a little uncertainty. "Where you been these last couple days?"

"Out and about, nothing major." Micky leaned over to the coffee table and picked up a book.

"Are you out tonight?" Mike wondered.

"Yeah, why?" Micky was now flicking through his book.

"Because I'm meeting up with a few buddies. Thought we'd hit a few bars."

"Groovy." Micky really didn't seem interested.

"Might see you out?" Mike felt like he was flogging a dead horse.

"Yeah, maybe." Micky replied, finding his place in his book and starting to read.

"Cool..." Mike nodded slowly, and he watched as Micky lost himself in one of the many books he read.

Micky didn't look at Mike once throughout their poor attempt at conversation. Mike sighed, wondering how long the awkwardness would last. There was a rift between himself and Micky now, and Mike was genuinely afraid he was going to lose his best friend. He wasn't used to being the one having to make all the effort, and he almost felt exhausted by it. It was so unlike Micky to be disinterested and distracted, and Mike didn't like it. Mike thought about all the times Micky had made an effort with him, just for Mike to act the same way Micky was acting now. Mike suddenly felt guilty, and he wondered why Micky had bothered with him as much as he did.

* * *

That night, Mike and his friends arrived at a bar in town. Mike, as always, wasn't really in the mood to party or be social, but he figured he needed to at least try to get his life back on track. If he was going to lose Micky, he might as well make an effort with the few friends he did have left.

When Mike walked in, he noticed Micky was already there with his friends. Micky was standing with a group of people, including a couple of girls, and he was laughing at something or other. Mike noted that Micky looked as if he was having a really good time. Mike was pleased to see Micky smiling.

Mike went straight to the bar while his friends looked for a table. It wasn't long before Davy, who was out with Micky, spotted Mike and approached him.

"I didn't expect to see you out." Davy said to Mike.

"Well here I am." Mike said, feigning enthusiasm.

"Do you know what's up with Micky?" Davy asked, curiosity filling the Englishman's voice.

Mike was surprised by the question, and he felt a little paranoid. "What do you mean? He looks fine."

"I dunno, he's just been a bit weird lately." Davy looked really thoughtful. "I was with him last night too and he seemed like something was pissing him off."

Mike looked across the room towards Micky, who was now dancing with a girl. "Well he looks fine to me."

"Yeah...maybe I'm just thinking too much." Davy wondered. "But do you know what I reckon? I think he's still hung-up on Samantha."

"Maybe." Mike didn't want to give too much away.

"I mentioned her before and he went all weird about it. I think he misses her."

"Probably." Mike looked down the bar, hoping the bartender would see to him soon so he could escape the conversation. "They were good together."

"Yeah, he was mad for letting that one go." Davy shook his head. "Maybe I'll play match-maker or something. I told him he should give her a call but he said he didn't think she'd still be interested. But I bet she is."

Mike started to feel really uncomfortable talking about Micky's love life. "I'm sure she is too."

They both looked over at Micky and a blonde girl dancing, and the girl was grinding against him. Their dance moves seemed to be hotting up, and were bordering on the obscene. Mike couldn't help watching them, although it bothered him to see Micky looking so into somebody else. Micky stared at the girl with lust in his eyes, or at least that's what Mike thought it was. Mike felt envious, and he hated himself for it. It was stupid, not wanting Micky for himself, yet not wanting anybody else to have him either. Except Mike _did_ want Micky to himself, and seeing Micky all over this girl was making Mike feel incredibly uneasy.

"Maybe he is fine after all." Davy snapped Mike out of his thoughts. "I can't imagine him being able to keep it in his pants for long enough to really make things work with Sam. The guy's an animal."

Mike swallowed hard as Micky and the blonde started kissing passionately in the middle of the dance floor, Micky's hands groping the girls ass. Mike realised he was staring too hard, and forced himself to look away.

"How long does it take to get served around here, dammit?" Mike snapped.

"Alright, calm down. They're obviously serving all the pretty lasses before they get to us."

Mike closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He knew he needed to keep his cool unless he wanted Davy to start asking questions about him too.

It wasn't long before Mike made his excuses and left the club. He managed to stick it for an hour and a half, but he got bored and tired and wanted to go home. He'd watched Micky most of the night, and he was pretty sure Micky wasn't aware Mike was even there. If Micky had have known Mike was there, he certainly made no attempts to acknowledge Mike's appearance.

* * *

Another two days followed much the same as the days before, with Micky and Mike hardly seeing each other. The short time they had spent together was a little strained, Mike finding himself trying to force the conversation - which is certainly not something anybody ever had to do around Micky.

Before their little 'situation', Micky was always the one to make an effort with Mike. He was always the one to strike up a conversation or ask to hang out. Now it was very much the other way around, and Mike didn't like it. Mike wondered if he was paranoid, but he was pretty certain Micky was doing his best to stay out of Mike's way.

Mike went looking for Micky, and found him in the garage which Micky had turned into a workshop for all his weird and wonderful creations.

"So this is where you've been hiding." Mike said as he walked in.

Micky didn't say anything, he just carried on what he was doing.

"What are you makin'?" Mike asked, intrigued by what Micky was working on.

"A Go-Cart." Micky replied, and Mike noticed Micky poking his tongue out in concentration as he fitted one piece of wood to another.

"Oh groovy!" Mike said enthusiastically, trying to remain as normal as possible. "Who's it for?"

Micky shrugged. "I don't know. I thought maybe Christian would like it. Whoever wants it, really."

Mike looked at Micky, and he felt touched that Micky was making something with his son in mind. "Christian would love it."

"It'll probably end up being a piece of shit anyway." Micky seemed to be getting frustrated with his woodwork.

Mike frowned as he rarely heard Micky being negative about anything, let alone his work. "Don't say that. Everything you make turns out great."

"Yeah, like that damn gyrocopter." Micky said sarcastically.

"It worked, you just couldn't get it out of here..." Mike trailed off. "You're really talented with this sort of stuff."

"Yeah, right." Micky scoffed sarcastically.

"Well I think this Go-Cart looks really groovy." Mike assured him, frustrated that Micky was putting himself down.

Micky continued with his work, ignoring Mike's comment. Mike carried on watching him, and he couldn't help think Micky looked adorable when he was concentrating, and he found himself drifting off into a little world of his own.

"Did you want something?" Micky asked, snapping Mike out of his thoughts.

"Oh, uh, I was just wondering where you were." Mike replied, scratching his head, annoyed at himself for getting distracted.

"Why?" Micky questioned, still not looking at Mike.

"Well uh, I can't help feelin' like you've been avoiding me these past few days." Mike said cautiously, realising it was best to just get things out in the open.

"Why would I do that?" Micky looked at Mike.

Mike felt embarrassed, wondering if maybe he was being paranoid after all. "Well it just seems like you've been doing everythin' you can to stay outta my way."

"I've just been busy, that's all." Micky replied defensively. "I thought you'd be pleased not having me around much anyway."

"Why would you think that?" Mike questioned.

"Why would you think I was avoiding you?" Micky hit back.

"I don't know. I just wanted to make sure we were cool." Mike started to feel really uneasy.

"Of course we are. Why shouldn't we be? Everything is groovy." Micky went back to his Go-Cart.

"Good. Good, 'cause that's what I want." Mike was struggling to find what to say.

Micky looked up, sensing Mike's discomfort. "Look, everything is fine. I've totally forgotten about it all. Maybe you should too."

Mike went on the defensive. "I_ have_ forgotten about it. I just want things to be normal, that's all."

Micky softened slightly. "Things are normal. I told you, everything is groovy. If I haven't been around much it's only because I've been busy. It's not 'cause I'm avoiding you."

Mike felt a little better, but he also felt embarrassed that he'd yet again brought up the situation he was so desperate to 'forget about'. "Well that's all I wanted to know."

"Well now you do." Micky smiled, and then went back to his Go-Cart.

Mike was silent for a moment, watching as Micky got back to work. "Christian would really dig that, you know, if you wanted to give it to him."

"If it's any good, it's his." Micky scratched his nose. "I'll make sure it's safe and everything, obviously. I'm not going to give it to him if the wheels are going to fall off or anything."

Mike laughed. "I know you wouldn't. I'm sure it'll turn out great, you're really good at all this kinda stuff. At least you know you have somethin' to fall back on if things don't work out with our band. I ain't got anythin' outside of music."

"You don't need anything else." Micky said nonchalant, screwing one piece of wood to another. "I'd give my right arm to have what you have."

Mike was genuinely shocked by that statement. "What do you mean?"

"You can write, you can play, you can sing. You've got vision. You know where it's at. Whatever happens with this Monkees stuff, you'll be fine." Micky was so casual with the way he said it, but Mike couldn't help feeling incredibly flattered.

"Well, thanks. I guess." Mike scratched his head, and he felt himself blush. He cringed, praying that Micky didn't notice.

Thankfully Micky didn't notice, as he was still focussed on his Go-Cart.

"Right, I think I'm done for now." Micky wiped his dusty hands down his shirt, and walked out without giving Mike a second glance.

Mike just stood there, his head in a spin. He didn't understand where Micky was at; he had no idea if Micky really was cool with everything between them, or whether he had a problem with things. Mike was totally stumped, and he couldn't work it out. Had he been paranoid, and Micky was telling the truth when he said he hadn't been deliberately avoiding Mike? Or was that all a lie, and Micky couldn't stand being around Mike anymore?

Mike had no idea what the answer was. He was annoyed with himself as he was the one who was so desperate for things to get back to normal, yet he seemed to be the one that had a problem letting go.

Micky was fine. Of course he was. Micky wasn't uptight like Mike. Micky was laid-back, he was open and honest and if he had a real problem with Mike, Mike would know about it. It was _Mike_ that had the problem. Mike was paranoid and being hyper-sensitive and over-analysing everything. Micky was right when he said Mike should just "forget about it." Micky had moved on, and Mike knew needed to move on too.

* * *

In the early hours of the next morning, Mike was woken up. It took him a few moments to realise he'd been woken by the sound of Micky coming up the stairs, and he decided to make sure everything was alright.

Mike climbed out of bed and headed out on to the landing. There he found Micky, who was clinging on to the banister of the stairs for dear-life, obviously drunk and trying to stop himself from falling back down again.

Mike sighed deeply, annoyed that yet again Micky had gotten himself wasted. Mike was starting to get concerned about Micky's drinking, and not just because he feared Micky might let the cat out of the bag after one too many. He didn't like what Micky was doing to himself, and it worried him.

"Oh Micky..." Mike tutted.

Micky was only a couple of steps from the top of the stairs, but Mike instinctively decided to help him the rest of the way. Mike stepped down, and took hold of Micky's arm.

"Get off me." Micky spat, immediately smacking Mike's hand away vigorously. "Don't touch me."

Mike was shocked by the reaction, as although Micky was a lot of things while drunk, he was never aggressive.

"Mick, I'm trying to help." Mike tried to take hold of Micky again.

"I said get off me." Micky slurred, hitting Mike's hand away again. "I don't need your help. I don't need y-you."

It was then that Mike realised what a mess Micky looked, and not just in the drunk-sense; he looked a state mentally. Micky looked sad and angry and bitter. Mike couldn't recall seeing Micky looking like this before.

"Well too bad, 'cause I'm gonna help you." Mike grabbed hold of Micky again, almost dragging him up the top two steps. "We don't want you fallin' over and doing yourself an injury."

"What do you care? You don't care." Micky slurred.

Mike was taken aback by Micky's attitude, but he carried on helping him anyway. He helped Micky along the landing to his bedroom.

"You need to stop getting yourself into such a mess." Mike said, ignoring Micky's comment. "I wish you wouldn't do this to yourself."

"You only- you only care 'cause you think I'm gon- I'm gonna say something. You don't care about- about _me_." Micky's words were a mess.

"You know that ain't true." Mike opened Micky's bedroom door, helping him inside. He then more or less dropped Micky on to his bed.

"Leave me alone." Micky slurred miserably.

"Why are you bein' like this?" Mike asked.

"Fuck you." Micky spat.

Mike frowned. "What's the matter with you? Has something happened?"

"You. You happened." Micky grabbed hold of his head. "Get out. Go on, go away. I don't need you."

Although Mike was aware Micky was a drunken mess, he couldn't help but feel hurt by his words. "I ain't leavin' you like this."

Micky buried his face in his hands. "Go away." He groaned.

Mike stood there, flummoxed. "I thought we were okay now."

"No. No. G-Go away. I don't want you." Micky looked almost distressed.

"Micky, I know you're drunk, but please don't be like this." Mike said firmly.

Micky now stared at the floor. His eyes were sad, and the weight of the world was on his shoulders. "I hate you." He choked.

Mike felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. He looked at Micky, who now looked the picture of misery, sat slumped on his bed. Micky's mouth was down-turned, and his eyes looked sad and lonely. It was that troubled look Mike hated so much, only it was far more intense than before. Mike had never in his life seen Micky look so truly unhappy, and hearing those words fall from Micky's lips turned Mike's blood cold.

"Don't say that." Mike almost pleaded.

Micky continued to stare at the carpet, and he was swaying slightly. "Leave me alone."

Mike started to get frustrated, confused by Micky's attitude and hurt by his words. "I thought we were okay. You said today everythin' was fine."

Micky looked up at Mike, and now he looked angry and bitter more than sad. "I lied." He spat.

"But you wanted things to get back to normal. That's...that's what you said. We talked about it when you got back from Vegas; you agreed with me that we should move on. You said it was all forgotten about." Mike was losing patience, trying to understand what was going on.

"Forgotten? You're a- you're such a dick." Micky slurred. "_You_ forgot. I didn't forget anything. You couldn't wait for me to- for me to leave. Bet you wish I never came back. You forgot- forgot about me."

"What about you, huh? I bet you weren't thinkin' about me when you were fuckin' that chick in Vegas." Mike started to get defensive.

Micky started laughing. He started laughing hysterically, like he found what Mike said totally hilarious. "You don't- you don't know what you just said." He gasped.

Mike stood there, totally confused by Micky's reaction.

Micky looked at Mike, and he was still laughing his head off. "I couldn't- I couldn't get it up." Micky choked through the laughter, and he collapsed on the bed. "I couldn't get it up! I-I couldn't get hard. That's never, never happened. But I couldn't do it until I thought about you!"

Micky was now crying with laughter, collapsed on the bed. He started hitting the bed with his hand, hysterical. Mike could only stand there and look on in stunned silence.

"But then- but then I thought of you, and I could do it. And then I fucked her but I-" Micky trailed off, cracking up again. "I couldn't come. I couldn't- I couldn't come. I had t-to fake it. I had to fake it!"

Micky rolled on to his stomach, burying his face in the covers, his whole body shaking with laughter.

Mike was mortified. He had no idea what to say or how to react, he just carried on standing there in horror at the mess in front of him.

Micky rolled back over, and he wiped his eyes. "You think this is normal?" He asked Mike, calmer now. "You've ruined everything. You've ruined my life."

Mike swallowed hard, disgusted at the mess in front of him - the mess he'd apparently made. "What do you want from me, Micky?" He asked slowly.

Micky sat up, and the laughter suddenly vanished. Micky went back to looking sad, almost self-loathing. He sat there, his eyes now watery from the laughter, and he stared into space, contemplating what Mike had just asked him.

Mike watched Micky, waiting for his response.

"You." Micky finally replied, his voice quiet but sure. "Just you."

Mike's heart broke. He watched Micky, who now looked totally spaced out. He went back to swaying on the spot, his mind looking like it was drifting far away.

"Mick..." Mike choked out in little more than a whisper.

"You hate me." Micky said out of nowhere.

Mike shook his head. "Don't be stupid. No I don't."

"You do. You hate me." Micky's mood had done a complete U-turn, and he now looked totally mortified.

Mike walked to the bed, sitting down beside Micky. "How can you think that?"

"You don't want me." Micky choked out, his voice almost cracking. He didn't look at Mike, he just stared into the space ahead.

"Micky..." Mike said softly.

Micky slumped sideways, laying his head on his pillow. His eyes now looked heavy, and he looked totally worn out.

Mike closed his eyes for a moment, sighing sadly. He looked at Micky, who's own eyes were drooping closed.

Mike lightly touched Micky's hair. "Go to sleep." He whispered comfortingly.

Micky's eyes fell closed, and Mike sat beside him on the bed, watching as he drifted off to sleep. It didn't take long for Micky to pass out, only this time was different to when Mike had watched Micky sleep before. Micky didn't look the picture of peace - he still looked troubled. He looked sad. His whole face almost didn't look like Micky, because Mike was so un-used to seeing Micky sad.

Mike carried on stroking Micky's hair as he slept. Mike hoped in some weird way it would make Micky feel better. It was stupid, Mike realised, because Micky was now dead to the world. But Mike still stayed with him, perched on the side of the bed, for a good couple of hours. Mike just watched Micky sleep, and his mind was going over and over everything Micky had said to him.

Mike kicked himself. Hard. He felt a fool for ever thinking that Micky could just forget about everything, that Micky could just move on. Mike hadn't forgotten, so why would Micky? Mike was only good at _pretending_ to move on. And Micky had done a good job at pretending either; it was only because he'd gotten drunk that he'd let his guard down and let Mike really know what he was feeling.

Eventually, Mike moved to the couch in Micky's room. He dozed off after a little while, but it was far from a settled sleep. When Mike woke the following morning, Micky was still crashed out. Mike went to his room, changed, and fetched Micky a glass of water for when he woke up. When Mike returned to Micky's room, Micky was then waking up.

Mike sat the glass of water on the nightstand. Mike didn't want to be looming over Micky when he woke, so he quickly sat back on the couch again as Micky woke up properly.

Mike watched as Micky's eyes flicked open. Micky yawned, stretching himself. He rubbed his eyes before noticing Mike sitting there, and he looked surprised to see him.

"Hi." Mike said quietly, his voice tinged with nerves.

Micky looked at Mike blankly, sitting himself up. Micky was squinting, and his hair was a mess. He looked hungover, sleepy and unsure, but Mike thought he looked as lovely as he'd ever seen him.

"What are you doing here?" Micky asked groggily, his throat sounding dry.

"I thought you could do with some water." Mike gestured to the nightstand.

Micky looked towards the glass. He paused before lifting it and gulping pretty much the whole glass down.

"I'm capable of getting myself some water, you know." Micky said as he set the glass back on the nightstand. He didn't really sound annoyed, but he also didn't sound thrilled that Mike was there. "I don't need you looking after me. I'm a grown man, believe it or not."

"I know." Mike nodded slowly, looking down. "I just... Do you remember anything about last night?"

Micky paused. He looked thoughtful. "I remember some stuff, but I'm hoping I dreamt most of it." He then looked towards Mike, who sat with his head hung. "But I'm guessing from your face, I didn't."

Mike suddenly, truly, had no idea what to say. He felt completely flawed, wondering how he was supposed to acknowledge the things Micky had said the night before - he didn't even know where to start. Mike wanted to be able to say something of comfort to Micky, but there was nothing he could say. He was completely stuck.

"I guess you want to leave now." Micky begun. He didn't sound sad or angry or...anything. Mike looked up. "It's cool, you know. I'm not gonna try to stop you this time. And if people ask questions, you can just tell them whatever you want; I'll go along with it. If you want to say I was a nightmare to live with and you couldn't stand to stay with me another second, that's cool."

Mike frowned sadly, watching as Micky picked at his finger nail. "I ain't gonna do that."

Micky looked up at Mike for a split second, before looking down once more.

"I don't know what to do, Mick." Mike's voice was almost desperate.

"I was drunk." Micky said matter-of-factly. "You shouldn't take anything I say too seriously."

"I wish you wouldn't get yourself like that." Mike said honestly.

"Because you're worried I'll say something, I get it." Micky nodded his head.

"No. No, it ain't just that." Mike suddenly felt like he had a million things to say, yet he couldn't bring himself to say anything. He was totally lost.

"Look, it's okay. You don't have to worry about me." Micky was now trying to reassure Mike, which wasn't the way around Mike wanted - or expected - it to be. "I'm fine, seriously. If you want to move out, I totally get it. I totally understand if you don't want to be around me anymore."

"That- that ain't..." Mike stopped himself, not knowing what he was even going to say. He rubbed his brow, his insides a jumbled mush of rubbish.

Micky sat there, and he was now staring at the covers on his bed. "Can you go, please?" He asked softly.

Mike looked towards Micky, who'd gone from reassuring to looking like a lost little boy. Mike really didn't want to leave Micky on his own, but he figured he could at least do the one thing Micky asked.

Mike nodded slowly. "Okay."

Micky snapped himself out of his little moment. "I need to take a shower."

Mike stood up. He took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on the sorry state that Micky was in.

"I'll see you later." Mike said quietly.

Micky didn't answer, he just continued to sit there helplessly.

Mike left the room, closing the door behind him. Micky looked up, and he felt wracked with guilt and shame. He was so incredibly embarrassed. He wished he didn't remember the previous night, but he remembered _everything_. He was so ashamed of himself not only for what he said to Mike, but for how pathetic he must've looked and sounded. Micky suddenly felt like any self-respect he had had gone forever.

Micky knew he'd put Mike in an impossible position. Micky had seen the visible look of struggle written all over Mike's face just now, and he resented himself for it. It had become clear over the past couple of weeks that Mike didn't deal with confrontation, and Micky had just laid all of his stupid thoughts and feelings out on a plate for Mike to see and attempt to deal with - or not deal with, as the case may be.

Micky took a long, hot shower. The more he thought about his outburst the night before, the more embarrassed he felt until it seemed to reach a point where he wasn't even embarrassed anymore. By the time Micky emerged from the shower, he knew there was no point in feeling humiliated; it was done now. It was out. Micky was aware Mike knew that even though he'd been drunk, Micky was being honest. There was no going back from that, Micky thought.

Even when Micky remembered telling Mike about the girl in Vegas, he'd gone past the point of humiliation. It had been a nightmare, that night in Vegas. Micky had taken this raven-haired girl back to his room at Billy's apartment. They had been fooling around for a while before Micky realised nothing was happening for him "downstairs". He brought some time by going down on the girl, but even after that he still hadn't managed to get hard. Micky had to think about Mike in order for him to get truly aroused. He thought about Mike's face when he came, about the way Mike's hands felt on his body, and the way Mike's lips felt against his skin. Micky had had to squeeze his eyes closed and imagine he was with Mike in order to develop an erection. And even once he was fucking the girl, it wasn't any fun. Micky felt guilty and ashamed that he was with this beautiful young woman, yet had to think of a _man_ in order to enjoy it. And even after all of that, he couldn't even come. Never in Micky's life had he had to fake an orgasm. The girl didn't seem to mind, thinking Micky was some sex-god who could last for ages. She was none the wiser that Micky had failed to get his jollies, but Micky was left feeling pretty grim when it was over.

And now Mike knew about that cringe-worthy night. Micky felt like a poor excuse of a man, and it reached a point where he felt like he had no more pride left to lose. He almost had to laugh at how pathetic he'd become.


	13. Chapter 13

That afternoon, Micky was in the den. He laid on his stomach on the fluffy rug on the floor, trying to read a book. He ended up just staring at the page blankly, as if there were no words written on it. His whole mind had seemed to go completely numb.

There was a small knock at the door, snapping Micky out of his thoughts. Micky looked up as the door came open, and Mike hesitantly stepped inside.

Micky looked down at his book again as Mike sat himself down on the floor beside Micky.

Mike was silent. Micky stared at the pages of his book before realising he was fooling no one. He closed the book, and sat up.

Mike looked at Micky. "Why did you say you were okay with everythin' when you weren't?" He asked calmly.

"Because it was what you wanted." Micky replied, and he started playing with the faux-fur rug beneath them.

"But...but you said you wanted that too." Mike sounded confused. Micky didn't look at him. "You said we should just forget about everythin'. We both agreed that was the right thing to do."

Micky was silent, still fiddling with the rug. He pondered what to say next, wondering whether to feed Mike some bullshit line about how really he was fine and that last night had just been some twisted joke. Micky realised it had gone past the point of pretending everything was okay when it really, really wasn't.

"We're humans, Mike. We're not robots." Micky finally replied, slowly and softly. He wasn't angry, and he wasn't upset - he was just being honest. "I know you probably think I'm reckless and irresponsible, and maybe I am. And you probably think that this is just another stupid thing I've done that'll just be forgotten about because it's no big deal. But it _is_ a big deal."

Micky looked up, finally looking at Mike who was watching him intently. "I can't just forget about it. I've done some crazy things in my life, but I don't fool around with men. That's not what I do. And you're not just any man; you're married, you have kids. We're in a band together. I know what'll happen if this gets out. So how can I forget about it like it doesn't even matter?"

Mike watched Micky, and a part of him felt relieved that Micky was being honest at last. Micky had said everything that Mike felt, but it only seemed to make things harder.

"You can't." Mike replied, Micky looking at him with that same intrigued look in his eye. "_We_ can't."

Micky looked down sadly. "I guess this means our friendship is over."

Mike's stomach flipped in horror. "Don't say that."

Micky looked up. "But what are we supposed to do? I've said too much shit...I've made everything worse."

"No you ain't." Mike desperately tried to reassure him.

"I have." Micky rubbed his face. "Everything I said last night...I fucked it up. I didn't mean to say all that. And the stuff about the girl in Vegas, fuck... You must think I'm crazy. That I'm totally screwed up."

"N-No, I don't." Mike wanted so much to touch Micky, to reassure him properly, to let him know that everything would be okay.

Micky buried his face in his hands. Mike watched Micky as he rubbed his eyes. Micky finally emerged from his hands, and he took a deep breath, composing himself.

"Look... it doesn't matter." Micky said softly, staring at the rug again. "If you can move on, that's awesome. Seriously, you don't have to worry about me. I swear to you, I won't say anything to anyone. I promise. I wouldn't do that to you. You should...you should just have some fun. You need to give yourself a break. You've had so much shit to deal with these past six months... You should call that girl, you know, the one from The Scarlett you hooked up with. Take her on a date or something."

Mike's heart was warmed that Micky was being so selfless, but it wasn't what Mike wanted to hear. Mike was almost made speechless by what Micky had said, and he could see that none of it was too easy for Micky to say - even though he knew Micky meant every word.

Micky looked up at Mike, fearing he hadn't been convincing enough, even though he was being totally honest. He wanted Mike to be happy - even if it wasn't with him.

"Seriously," Micky pressed, trying to give Mike what he thought he wanted. "Give that girl a call."

"I can't." Mike replied, his eyes now fixed on Micky.

Micky looked confused. "Why?"

"I ain't got her number." Mike's eyes stayed fixed on Micky, like he was in some sort of trance.

Micky was confused further, not just by Mike's words, but by the way Mike was looking at him. "You told me before that you called her and took her on a date." Micky's voice was high and soft and he sounded puzzled. Mike thought he looked lovely.

"I lied." Mike stared at Micky hard, and Micky was staring right back. "I didn't sleep with her. I don't even know her name."

"But...but you said..." Micky trailed off. "Why did you say you did?"

"Because I wanted you to think I was okay." Mike admitted.

Mike was gazing at Micky so intently, and Micky watched as Mike's eyes turned sad again. Micky was totally stunned, not thinking for a second that Mike had been lying about sleeping with that girl. Micky suddenly felt totally relieved, and he felt strangely flattered that Mike lied to him - even if it had hurt his feelings.

"Mike..." Micky gasped, staring straight back at the dark-haired Texan. "What are we doing?"

Mike was transfixed on Micky. "What do you want to do?" He asked.

Micky's gaze faltered, and he looked down.

Mike's hand instantly went to Micky's face, taking hold of his chin and lifting Micky's head to look at him again.

Micky's breathing started to get heavy now, and Mike could see Micky's chest start heaving. Micky started to feel a little flustered, his eyes looking downwards and his cheeks glowing a sweet shade of red under Mike's intense gaze.

Micky swallowed, his eyes moving up to meet Mike's once more.

"Do you know what you do to me, boy?" Mike asked, still transfixed.

Mike's hand remained holding Micky's chin, gently holding his head in place. "N-No." Micky choked in little more than a whisper. "Tell me."

Mike shook his head only slightly. Mike stared at Micky's nervous-looking face. Mike thought Micky looked absolutely beautiful. He looked sweet. He looked strangely innocent. He looked lost and unsure. He looked at Mike with unease, yet behind that unease was trust. Mike's heart was melting. Mike was losing control. Only this time, he didn't care.

Mike moved his face closer to Micky's, stroking his cheek gently. Micky visibly shivered.

"I'm going to show you." Mike whispered, looking down at Micky's lips.

Micky's heart skipped a beat, and both he and Mike moved forward at the same time, pressing their lips together in a heated kiss. They wrapped their arms around each other, falling back on the rug. They devoured each other with their lips, and they rid each other of their clothes.

It was just like last time, the two of them getting lost in their kisses and touches. The whole wide world disappeared and nothing else seemed to matter when they were together like this. They were both naked now, skin on skin, both of them getting more and more aroused with every touch and movement. Micky rolled on top of Mike, and Mike run his fingers through Micky's soft curls, moving them down the back of Micky's neck and making the younger man shiver once more.

Micky sucked on Mike's neck, and he bit it gently. Mike let out a small, breathy moan, and Micky repeated the action once more. Mike's fingernails danced down Micky's back, loving the feeling of Micky's soft skin beneath his fingertips.

"Touch me." Micky whispered breathlessly into Mike's ear.

Mike did as instructed, and moved his hand between their bodies, heading down towards Micky's erection.

Just as Mike wrapped his fingers around Micky's length, Micky grabbed hold of Mike's hand. "Not there."

Micky pulled Mike's hand out from between them, and guided it behind him. Micky held Mike's hand, and Mike let Micky guide it between Micky's ass-cheeks. Mike was taken aback, unsure what Micky was doing, until he realised _exactly_ what Micky had meant by wanting Mike to touch him.

Mike felt a little nervous, as he'd never touched anyone_ there_ before. Mike didn't let himself stop and think, he just let Micky manoeuvre his hand until one of Mike's fingers breached Micky's opening. Mike could feel and hear Micky's heavy breath, and Mike was desperate to give Micky exactly what he wanted. Mike gently pushed his finger inside Micky, immediately stunned by how tight and warm it was inside.

Micky moaned slightly, and he kissed Mike's lips deeply in response. Mike pushed his finger further inside Micky, his heart racing at the contact. Knowing he was inside this beautiful young man only managed to turn Mike on even more.

In the past, Micky had been with a girl who was keen to try new things, and he'd let her put a finger inside of him. Strangely, he'd enjoyed how it felt, and since then he'd always wondered what it would feel like to have something far bigger inside of him.

Mike's finger was significantly bigger than the adventurous girl he'd been with. Mike's fingers were long and a lot thicker too. It felt uncomfortable, but with every movement Mike made, Micky got used to it. He started to become accustomed to the feeling of Mike's long, strong finger inside of him, and the thought of it alone made Micky feel good. He liked the thought of him being attached to Mike in some way, as weird as it felt.

Mike moved his finger in and out of Micky, slowly gaining confidence and moving faster, circling it around inside of Micky. Mike wondered what it felt like, because he didn't understand how it could possibly feel good. But the way Micky was reacting, Mike knew he was doing something right. Mike loved the way Micky was so animated and so vocal. Micky kissed Mike with even more fire and passion than before, and Mike decided to be bold and put another finger inside of Micky. Micky groaned as Mike pushed two fingers deep inside of him, and Micky grinded himself against Mike. Micky begun to sweat, breaking their kiss and breathing heavily. Mike leaned forward, gently sucking on Micky's shoulder and causing Micky to moan once more.

Mike loved the feeling of his fingers surrounded by this incredible tightness. His mind drifted, and he wondered what it would feel like to be truly inside of Micky. His heart raced even harder at the thought, but he snapped himself out of it. He kissed Micky with renewed passion, wanting Micky to feel as good as physically possible.

Mike pulled both his fingers out of Micky, and flipped him over on to his back. Mike hovered over the curly haired man, and Micky looked up at him with a combination of wonder and lust. Mike loved it when Micky looked at him like this. It made him feel bold and strong and yet weak and powerless at the same time, as if Micky had control over him. But right now, Mike felt in control, and he was desperate to control Micky's pleasure.

Mike leaned down, kissing Micky deeply once more. He broke this kiss, surprising Micky slightly, and then Mike moved himself down Micky's body. He took hold of Micky's length and started to stroke it. He stared at the hard cock in his hand, watching it with wonder.

Micky's chest was heaving as he watched Mike watching him. Micky didn't know what Mike was going to do next, but he was stunned when Mike lowered his head and surrounded Micky's erection with his mouth.

"Holy_ shit_." Micky groaned, his hips instinctively thrusting upwards though he tried to keep them under control.

Mike had his eyes squeezed shut, and he tried his best to satisfy Micky. It was weird, it was surreal, and it felt totally alien in Mike's mouth, but Mike sucked Micky hard, taking as much of Micky in his mouth as he physically could.

Mike focussed on the noises Micky was making. Micky started to moan loud, louder than Mike had heard him moan before. It spurred Mike on, it gave him more confidence in what he was doing, and it made him even more determined to do a good job.

"Oh god... oh _Mike_..." Micky panted, and Mike felt Micky's hand take a fist-full of his hair.

Mike bobbed his head fast, and he tried to get his mind to function enough for him to think what to do next. He swirled his tongue around Micky, remembering what he liked when he received blow jobs, and he was satisfied with the response.

"Oh fuck!" Micky wailed, gripping Mike's hair even tighter.

Mike continued this process for a little longer until Micky's grip on his hair become almost painful.

"M-Mike..." Micky gasped. "I'm gonna...I'm gonna _come_...I'm gonna come...oh god...I'm coming..._Mike_..."

Mike squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, his heart pounding even faster inside his chest. He'd been warned, and Micky tugged at Mike's hair, trying to get Mike off of him before the inevitable happened, much the same way Mike had gotten Micky off of himself when their positions were reversed.

But Mike didn't want to stop. Mike wanted Micky to reach the ultimate satisfaction. Mike was determined to see this through - as nervous as he was.

"_Mike_..." Micky moaned, his hips thrusting upwards.

It was too late for Mike to change his mind now, as Micky spilled everything he had deep within Mike's mouth. Mike paused as jet after jet of hot come filled his mouth, and as soon as Micky had finished Mike removed his mouth.

Mike instantly coughed, and he gagged slightly, swallowing Micky's juices down the best he could. Mike coughed some more, his eyes watering, his whole face scrunched up. He sat upright, a little dazed by what had just happened.

Micky laid there, and he'd gained enough composure to watch as Mike dealt with the aftermath of having come poured down his throat. Micky felt guilty, even though he'd warned Mike and tried to stop him from taking his load in his mouth.

"You didn't have to do that." Micky said breathlessly.

Mike sat there, still dazed. He coughed again before clearing his throat. His heart was racing so fast he felt like he'd just run a marathon.

Micky sat up, and he run his fingers through Mike's hair. Mike didn't respond, but he also didn't pull away.

"You didn't have to do that." Micky said once more, leaning in and planting a small kiss on the side of Mike's neck.

Mike closed his eyes, tilting his head just a little to give Micky access. Micky started kissing Mike's neck slowly, wrapping his arms around the Texan.

"Let me return the favour." Micky purred into Mike's ear.

Mike closed his eyes, sighing deeply as Micky laid him back down on the rug. Micky kissed Mike deeply, pushing his tongue into Mike's mouth and tasting the salty remains of his own seamen. Micky couldn't believe Mike had done that for him, and Micky was now desperate for them to be equals, wanting to make Mike feel as good as he'd just made Micky feel.

Mike's erection had softened slightly, but Micky stroked him back to full hardness. And then Micky went down on Mike. This time though, he kept his eyes open as he took Mike's huge erection into his mouth. It was daunting, but Micky felt more confident than he had done last time, and he sucked Mike with renewed energy, feeling more capable than he did the time before.

Micky used the same tricks Mike had played on him, swirling his tongue around Mike's length, and after a little while, Micky actually started to enjoy it. He started to get a real kick out of it, enjoying the way Mike's massive dick felt in his mouth and between his lips. Micky was only sorry he couldn't take more of it in, as he was feeling a genuine rush knowing the pleasure he was giving Mike.

Much like when Mike sucked off Micky, it didn't take Mike long to reach his climax. Mike warned him Micky, tugging on his hair the way he'd done before, but this time Micky stayed put, desperate to prove to Mike that he was capable of taking a mouthful of come the way Mike had just done.

It was bizarre logic, but when Mike exploded into Micky's mouth, Micky felt like more of a man. It was a little bit gross, Micky thought, but it wasn't as bad as he'd expected. It was the texture that was weird more than anything, but Micky tried to think of it as just a weird tasting cocktail instead of thinking of it as sperm from another man. Micky swallowed without hesitation, and he seemed to deal with it a lot better than Mike had just done.

Both Micky and Mike flopped back onto the rug, and they laid there side by side. Both of them were breathing heavily; Mike from the orgasm he'd just achieved, and Micky from having his mouth filled with cock for the last couple of minutes before having time to recover from his own orgasm.

They stared at the ceiling, both of them a little dazed and shocked by how events had unfolded. They remained silent, the only noise coming from their deep breathing. Mike wondered how this had happened, how they had ended up in this position yet again. He was troubled and a little disturbed by how much he enjoyed being with Micky like that, and he couldn't deny that he'd loved every moment of it.

Mike's hand was lying at his side, and he suddenly felt Micky's hand on top of his. Micky's hand rested on top of Mike's, his thumb caressing Mike's hand only slightly. Mike was warmed by the contact, but only for a second before he pulled his hand away.

Mike sat up. He reached for his boxer shorts and pulled them on while still sitting. Mike sat forward, staring at nothing, trying to understand what the hell they were supposed to do next.

"Are you okay?" Micky asked.

Mike was silent for a moment, trying to figure out how to answer that simple question. "I don't know." He replied slowly. "Are you?"

Micky reached for his own boxers, and he used them to cover his modesty. "I think so." Micky nodded slowly. "It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. It didn't...taste so bad."

Mike cringed, unable to believe what they'd both just done. "How can you be so cool about this?"

Micky didn't answer. He slowly pulled his underwear back on, but he remained sitting just behind Mike, leaning back and propping himself up on his elbows.

"Ain't you scared?" Mike asked quietly.

"No," Micky begun without hesitation, and Mike turned his head around to look at Micky. "I'm terrified."

Mike looked forward again. "I don't think I can keep on staying here."

Micky sat forward, nodding his head and looking down.

"Things keep happenin'...it's goin' too far." Mike continued.

"It's already gone too far." Micky said softly.

Mike closed his eyes. "I'm gonna have to go. I don't...I don't know what else to do."

"We could talk, you know, find out where we're both at..." Micky suggested nervously.

Mike sighed. "You know where I'm at. I told ya the other day, my heads a mess. I don't...I don't know what I'm doin'." Mike cringed once more, hating the way he felt the need to play things down, and hating himself for lying to Micky.

"Right, and I got bored of picking up chicks so I set my sights on the most emotionally-stunted, unattainable straight man I could find, because that's apparently how I get my kicks nowadays." Micky said bitterly.

Mike swung his head around to look at Micky. "That ain't what I said."

"That's what you said the other day." Micky was getting himself a little worked up. "You think I'm a "slut", that's what you said."

"I..I didn't mean that." Mike protested. "That ain't what I think."

"But you think I'm a stupid kid with a crush, right?" Micky questioned.

Mike was beginning to get frustrated with Micky's attitude. "I ain't tryin' to be an asshole, Micky. I'm tryin' to fix this."

Micky stood up, grabbing his pants and pulling himself into them. "So you're just gonna move out."

Mike stood up, picking up his pants and holding them in front of him as he faced Micky. "Do you have any other suggestions? What else are we supposed to do, Mick? We can't go on like this."

Micky buttoned up his pants before running his fingers through his hair. He rubbed his face. "No, you're right. You're totally right." He sighed. "You should just go."

"I don't..." Mike trailed off, and he turned around, stepping into his pants. He hung his head. "When we're around each other-"

"-things happen." Micky nodded, picking up his shirt. "So it'd be better if we just...stayed apart."

Mike turned to face Micky again, buttoning his pants. "Livin' together...things are just gettin' too intense. If we ain't around each other, then nothin' can happen."

"And you think whatever this thing is will just go away?" Micky wondered.

"I... Well, yeah." Mike tried to sound positive.

"And you think it's that simple?" Micky asked, pulling his t-shirt over his head.

"I don't think any of this is simple, Mick." Mike said a little harsher than intended. "But everythin' is so messed up."

Micky looked down, and he knew that Mike was right. "Okay. Right. So you move out then."

Mike scratched his head. "Yeah..."

"Where are you gonna go?"

"I don't know yet. I'll have to figure that out. Maybe I can move back in my house."

"But it's not finished. You can't live there while there are workmen everywhere, the place is a mess."

Mike shrugged his shoulders.

"But it's better than living with me, right?" Micky asked.

Mike frowned. "Don't be like that, Micky."

Micky looked down. "Sorry."

"I'm just tryin' to do the right thing, for both of us." Mike assured him.

"I know." Micky nodded. "I know you are. I'm sorry, just ignore me. I'm being a dick."

"I should've gone ages ago...it shouldn't have got to this." Mike said awkwardly.

"No, you're right. It's better this way. A clean-break. No more stupid shit." Micky tried to sound convincing.

"Right." Mike nodded. "It makes sense."

"Totally." Micky forced a smile. "I'm cool with it, seriously. It's like I said this morning, I'm not going to try to stop you."

"Right." Mike said again, still nodding his head slowly.

"You know what, I think you're right about everything, actually. About me." Micky begun as assured as possible. "You were right when you said it was getting too easy for me to pick up chicks. Sometimes I just have to look at a girl and know I'm going to get laid. I mean sure, they probably only go with me because I'm famous or whatever, but the result's always the same. Maybe I'm just bored and looking for a challenge."

Mike was surprised by Micky's words, and he couldn't figure out if Micky was being genuine or not.

"I mean, you say I'm a drama-queen. Well maybe I love the drama as well." Micky shrugged.

Mike stared at Micky. Micky didn't make eye-contact with Mike throughout his statement, and now he shifted awkwardly on his feet. Mike felt as if Micky was lying to him, but he couldn't be sure.

"I..I didn't really think that." Mike said awkwardly, not really knowing how to respond.

"Whatever. It's cool. I'm bored now anyway, so you should just go. I've had my fun. Something I can tick-off the bucket list, I suppose." Micky was now chewing the inside of his lip, not looking at Mike as he spoke.

Mike couldn't help but be a little hurt by Micky's words, even if he wasn't sure if he bought it or not.

Mike swallowed hard. "Well then..."

"Groovy." Micky said, and before Mike could say anything else, Micky hung his head and hurried out of the room.

Micky rushed out of the house, jumped in his car and sped away. Micky gripped the steering wheel hard, realising his hands were shaking. He drove to a quiet spot and pulled up, and he sat there in his car for several minutes. Micky leaned his head forward, pressing it against the steering wheel. His mind was reeling, and he hated the things he said to Mike. Micky had no idea if he wanted Mike to believe what he said or not. If Mike believed him, it would surely make it easier for Mike to walk away. But on the other hand, Micky couldn't stand the thought of Mike thinking that Micky only saw him as a game, or a test, or a challenge. Micky couldn't stand the thought of Mike thinking he didn't care, when he _did_ care. He cared a hell of a lot. Micky cared more than he even dared admit to himself.

Micky was hurting. He didn't want Mike to leave, even though he totally understood why Mike wanted to. Mike was trying to do the right thing, and although it probably_ was_ the right thing, it sure as hell didn't feel like it.


	14. Chapter 14

Mike and Micky didn't see each other for the rest of the day. Mike was already out when Micky got up the next day, and Micky feared that Mike had moved out without even saying goodbye. Micky even went to Mike's room to check if his things were still there, and he was relieved to find that they were.

Mike spent the day driving around, attempting to clear his head, although nothing seemed to do the trick. Mike visited his house and was mortified to find that there had been a delay with the renovations, adding at least an extra couple of weeks before the house would be suitable to live in.

Mike didn't really know what to do next. He knew there were friends who would probably put him up for a while, but Mike couldn't stand the thought of living with anyone else. The only person Mike could bear the thought of living with was the only person he believed he couldn't live with; and that was Micky.

Mike really wanted to find somewhere where he could settle. He didn't enjoy the thought of having to pack up all his things every few days, so he took some time calling around hotels to see what they could do.

Micky spent the whole day in his room. He laid with his head under the covers most of the afternoon, trying to block everything out. Micky managed to eat something before returning to his room, and he picked up his acoustic guitar and started playing around with it.

It was early evening, and Mike had started packing his bags. He hadn't seen or spoken to Micky since the day before, and he was dreading having to say goodbye. Mike told himself constantly that it was for the best, but he really hated the thought of leaving. All the issues with Micky aside, Mike had really enjoyed staying in Micky's house. Mike had settled in almost instantly, and not once did he feel like he was living in someone else's home - he felt like it was his home, too. Mike wasn't sure whether it was because Micky made him feel so welcome, or whether it was just the house in general that made Mike feel so comfortable staying there.

After some thought, Mike figured it was Micky's presence in the house; not just his physical presence, but all the things in the house that made it Micky's, that made Mike's time there so enjoyable. Everywhere Mike looked, something screamed of Micky; the decor, all the weird and wonderful ornaments and knick-knacks and posters and pictures and art and everything just reminded Mike of Micky. And that was why Mike felt so at ease there.

Micky wasn't even aware Mike was in his room when he picked up his guitar and started playing. Micky drifted off into his own little world, playing a song he and his sister had written called She'll Be There.

Mike heard the music playing faintly, and he stepped out of his room onto the landing. That was when Mike heard Micky singing quietly to himself. Mike realised he hadn't heard Micky sing in ages, and hearing him sing now made Mike's heart dance.

Mike walked closer to Micky's bedroom door, and he listened through it. Micky's voice was so soft and beautiful that it gave Mike butterflies. Mike had always adored Micky's voice, from the very first time he'd heard him sing. Mike always thought to himself that if he could only write songs for one person to sing, he would write songs for Micky. So many of Mike's numbers he'd handed over to Micky, and so many songs Mike had written with Micky's voice in mind.

Mike found himself smiling as he listened to Micky sing. Mike pressed his ear against the door, and he closed his eyes. Not long after though, Micky stopped singing and playing, before he'd even finished the song. Mike stood up straight, and his heart sunk. He sighed, coming back to reality again. He knew now he had to say goodbye.

Mike had been dwelling on everything Micky had said yesterday, trying to figure out whether he'd meant it or not. So many things Micky had said were contradicting; the other night, Micky told Mike that he wanted him. Yesterday, Micky told Mike that he'd "had his fun". Mike then realised he'd treated Micky in much the same way, saying one thing one minute, and something different the next. Mike was confused enough about his own feelings, let alone trying to understand Micky's feelings as well.

Mike finally plucked up the courage to knock on Micky's door. He opened it slowly, and found Micky sitting on his bed wearing a pair of pyjama pants, holding his guitar. Micky jumped as Mike opened the door, as he'd apparently not even heard Mike knock.

"Sorry." Mike apologised for startling Micky.

"It's alright." Micky responded, looking a little embarrassed and a little surprised to see Mike.

Micky stood his guitar next to his bed, propping it against the wall before sitting back down. "I thought you might've gone already."

"Well that's why I'm here, to tell you I've found a place to stay." Mike told him.

"Oh right. Cool." Micky tried to sound enthusiastic, but it fell a little flat. "Where are you going?"

"A hotel. They said they could offer me a room for a month. I had to pay a little extra, but it ain't like I don't have the cash." Mike tried to act casual.

"Your own house isn't fit to live in yet?" Micky wondered.

"No, something went wrong. Something to do with the power...I don't really know. I didn't listen to the details much, I just told 'em to get on with it." Mike replied.

"Oh." Micky started twiddling his thumbs nervously.

"So uh, I'm all packed. I ain't leaving right now, I couldn't get the room until tomorrow. But uh, I thought I'd tell you now, 'cause I'll probably be gone by the time you get up tomorrow." Mike felt sick.

Micky looked down. "Cool. Well, at least you've got somewhere to go."

"Yeah..." Mike rubbed the back of his neck. Micky was now sitting cross-legged on his bed, and he was fiddling with a stray piece of thread from his pyjama pants. "Thanks for uh, for everythin'. For letting me stay here, I mean."

"Oh it's cool, you don't have to thank me." Micky spoke softly, still playing with his pyjama pants, unable to look at Mike.

"Right, well...I guess I'll see you around." Mike said awkwardly.

"Yep." Micky still didn't look at Mike.

Mike stood there, his heart starting to race. "You will uh, you will be okay, won't ya?"

Micky looked up. He forced a small, sweet smile. "Of course I will."

Mike swallowed hard, watching as Micky went back to playing with the loose piece of thread again. Mike wasn't sure he bought it.

"It's my birthday soon," Micky begun, trying his best to sound normal. "I'm planning a really big party, it's going to be crazy. So I'm just going to throw myself into that, you know. I want it to be the party of the year."

Mike tensed up. "Mick, you...you ain't gonna go too crazy, are ya?"

Micky looked up. "Well it'll be my birthday, of course I'm gonna have fun."

"I know, but...I ain't just talking about your birthday." Mike felt uncomfortable, but he knew he had to say it. "I just mean...in general, you know. You do...well you do go pretty wild."

Micky shifted, and he took a deep breath, looking a little annoyed. "I've told you a million times, I'm not going to get drunk and say anything about all this. Do you think I have no self control whatsoever?"

"No... That ain't just what I'm worried about." Mike blurted out, and Micky looked at him expectantly. "Everyone goes a little mad sometimes, parties a little too hard...but you, it's all the time. You come home wasted several nights a week. That ain't right, Micky."

Micky looked seriously put-out. "Well it's not going to be your problem anymore, is it?" He snapped.

"N-No...no, that ain't- that ain't what I'm talkin' about." Mike was starting to get a little flustered, wishing he hadn't said anything in the first place. "It's just...I wish you'd take better care of yourself. I mean, what you do to yourself...it ain't healthy. I don't want you- I don't want you messin' up your voice or somethin'. I dunno..."

Mike trailed off, looking down like he was embarrassed. Micky was surprised by Mike's words, and he felt flattered that Mike seemed to care.

"You don't have to worry about me. I'm a big boy you know, I can look after myself." Micky tried to reassure Mike.

Mike looked up, and Micky gave him that small smile again. "Yeah. 'Course you can."

Micky looked down again. "You can come to my party, you know. If you want to."

Mike didn't know how to respond to that. "I uh, I dunno...maybe."

"Well don't worry if you can't make it." Micky said quickly. "There'll be plenty of people there. I get it if it's not really your scene."

"Yeah... Well, we'll see." Mike replied awkwardly.

"Probably best if we stay out of each other's way altogether, huh?" Micky started twiddling his thumbs.

Mike nodded. "Yeah." He said firmly. "Probably."

"Right...well, I'm sure you've got more packing to do. You've got stuff all over the place." Micky forced a laugh.

"Uh...yeah, yeah I guess so." Mike scratched his head. He could hardly believe this was it, and he couldn't help feel disappointed that Micky wasn't trying to get him to stay. "I guess I'll see you around then."

"Sure." Micky forced a smile, but Mike was pretty sure Micky didn't really look happy at all.

Mike turned to leave, his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach. He was about to step outside the door when Micky spoke.

"Mike?" Micky called after him.

Mike turned around. Micky still sat cross-legged on the bed, and he looked at Mike with that same look of wonder in his eyes.

"If we could guarantee that nobody would ever find out about anything, would you stay?" Micky asked innocently.

Mike's heart skipped a beat, and his stomach flopped. He was totally shocked, and he had no idea how to answer. "Well...we can't, can we." Mike said solemnly.

"I know, but if we could, would you?" Micky questioned further, looking up at Mike expectantly.

Mike felt his heart melting just by the way Micky was looking at him. "There ain't no point thinkin' like that, Mick." He replied gently.

"But what if there was?" Micky pressed, his eyes wide.

Mike closed his eyes and hung his head, realising that Micky wasn't going to give up without a fight. "It don't work like that." He said sadly.

Micky stood up, and he walked slowly towards Mike. "But suppose it did work like that," Micky went on. "Let's just say that nobody would or could ever find out about...about anything. That it was just us, and nobody else mattered. Would you still want to leave?"

Mike looked up, opening his eyes. Micky stood right before him, and Mike had so much admiration for Micky's boldness, for his willingness to ask such an innocent question that meant so much. Micky stared at Mike, and Mike could tell Micky was nervous. Mike was aware Micky was totally putting himself out there, and Mike knew then and there what Micky wanted to hear. Looking at Micky made Mike realise that everything Micky had said about not really caring was a lie, and every time Micky acted like he wasn't bothered about Mike leaving was a lie too. Mike looked into Micky's eyes, and Micky was pleading with him; not with his words, but his eyes were begging Mike to stay.

For the first time, Mike decided to be totally honest. Micky was lying his soul on a plate, and the least Mike could do was give him the truth - even if Mike believed it wasn't truly what was best for Micky in the long run.

"I would stay." Mike replied quietly. "I would stay here... with you."

Mike could visibly see a black cloud lifting from over Micky's head. That twinkle that everyone knew and loved returned to Micky's eye.

Micky stepped even closer. "Then stay."

Mike sighed sadly. "It ain't that simple, Mick."

"Why?" Micky questioned.

"Because...because it ain't like that. We can't guarantee nobody will find out. We can't do that." Mike's words were dripping with regret.

Micky looked down sadly. "I don't care about anyone else."

"But you do though." Mike reminded him. "You _do_ care."

Micky looked up. "I care about you more."

Mike took a deep breath, his head in a spin. He felt totally conflicted. "Mick..."

"I-I know you're doing what you think is right. I know you are. And it probably is right...except it isn't." Micky looked at Mike desperately. "It isn't right because you want to stay, and I don't want you to go."

Mike closed his eyes. He tried to breath steadily, trying to think rationally. He wanted so much to be strong, to walk away, but he wasn't sure he could.

Mike opened his eyes, looking at Micky. Micky could tell Mike was facing a personal battle. "This is so fucked up." Mike whispered.

"I know." Micky agreed sadly. "But maybe it doesn't have to be."

Mike tilted his head to the side, looking at Micky with wonder. "You're such a dreamer."

"It's better that way." Micky replied, a small smile teasing his lips.

Mike sighed, shaking his head. He stepped closer to Micky. "What am I gonna do with you?" He gazed at Micky.

Micky's whole face seemed to glow. "I told you I was trouble."

Mike's heart stopped, remembering the night when he first truly understood his feelings for Micky; the night Micky was drunk and stoned out of his mind. Mike remembered Micky saying he was "trouble", and how confused he'd been then by that statement. Mike realised now that when Micky told Mike he "liked someone" that night, Micky was actually talking about _him_.

Mike shook his head slowly again, in disbelief more than anything else.

Micky wrapped his arms around Mike's neck, and he gazed at the Texan seriously. "I'm not trying to screw up your life. I just...I just really don't want you to go." He said softly.

Mike brushed Micky's hair back and away from his face. "I ain't goin' nowhere." He whispered.

Mike leaned forward, kissing Micky on the lips. He wrapped his arms around the slightly shorter man, kissing him slowly. Micky draped his arms around Mike's neck, and he placed his right hand on the back of Mike's head. Micky stroked Mike's hair gently, comfortingly, and he melted into Mike's kisses.

Mike laid Micky on the bed, hovering over him. Micky propped himself up on his elbows, leaning forward and giving Mike a tiny kiss on the tip of his nose. Mike's heart fluttered, and he stroked Micky's face gently. Micky smiled at Mike before wrapping his arms around him once more, pulling Mike down on top of him.

They kissed passionately, Mike's tongue pushing inside Micky's mouth. Micky moved his hand between their bodies, rubbing Mike through the fabric of his jeans. Mike shuddered at the contact, and let out a small moan. Mike attached his lips to Micky's neck, sucking on the soft skin gently and making Micky purr. Micky moved his hands the front of Mike's shirt, desperately fumbling with the buttons. Micky got the majority of buttons open, but struggled with the bottom ones. Mike lifted himself up slightly, giving Micky better access to the lower buttons of his shirt, but Micky lost patience. Instead, Micky grabbed hold of Mike's shirt and literally ripped it open, the sound of the bottom two buttons hitting the floor and rolling away.

Mike was shocked by Micky's show of aggression, and he paused, looking down at the younger man. Micky looked up at Mike with hunger in his eyes and determination on his face. He was breathing heavily, and Mike was suddenly overcome with need and lust, more than turned on by Micky's fierce display.

Mike grabbed hold of both Micky's arms, pinning them above his head. Micky smirked, and Mike devoured Micky with his lips. Mike sucked on Micky's bottom lip, and he kissed Micky's face, moving down to his neck where he sucked on it hard. Micky moaned, arching his back, pressing his erection against Mike's. Mike let go of Micky's arms, and he shrugged the shirt off his shoulders. He immediately went for the buttons of his jeans, hurriedly trying to rid himself of them. Soon he got them undone, and managed to kick them off. Mike then went to Micky's pyjama pants, and yanked them down with ease.

Micky wrapped his arms around Mike, clawing at his back as Mike kissed him deeply once more. Micky moved his hands right down, squeezing Mike's perfectly-rounded ass, loving how it felt in his hands. Mike pressed his erection against Micky's, their breathing getting heavier and their passion growing by the second.

Mike sucked on Micky's neck once more, and Micky nibbled on Mike's earlobe.

"Fuck me." Micky breathed into Mike's ear.

Mike paused. He totally froze. He lifted his head to look at Micky, and Micky still wore that look of hunger, that look of need and want. Mike stared at Micky hard, silently asking him if that was what he really wanted. Micky nodded his head slightly, giving Mike the answer he needed.

Mike's heart started to pound. He suddenly felt incredibly nervous, but more than that, he felt a desire like he'd never felt before. Mike instantly went back to kissing Micky again, and he took hold of Micky's legs, sliding his hands behind Micky's knees and lifting his legs to they wrapped around him.

Mike slid his hand down, his lips still attached to Micky's, and he pushed his finger inside the curly haired man like he'd done the day before. Micky moaned into the kiss, and Mike started his attempts at preparing Micky. Mike didn't really know what he was doing, though he tried to figure it out. He'd never had anal sex with anyone before, and feeling the tightness that surrounded his finger aroused him more than he could ever imagine. Mike was suddenly desperate to get inside Micky, the anticipation almost unbearable.

Mike pushed another finger inside Micky, and he circled them around inside of him. Mike figured he should try to stretch Micky, as the last thing he wanted in the world was to hurt him. Mike didn't understand how he couldn't hurt him though, and that made him even more nervous.

Micky pulled his legs up further, giving Mike better access. The fingers felt uncomfortable, but they felt better than they had done the previous day. Micky was so incredibly nervous, but he was absolutely certain this was what he wanted - and needed.

"There's lube in the drawer." Micky breathed, nodding toward the nightstand.

Mike pulled his fingers out of Micky and realised his hands were trembling. He was starting to sweat in anticipation, and he leaned over the side of the bed, opening the drawer of the nightstand and pulling out some lubricant.

Micky stared up at Mike, his chest heaving. Mike could tell Micky was just as nervous as he was. Mike fumbled with the lid of the tube, unable to undo it from trembling so much. Micky took the lube from Mike, his own hands shaking slightly, and he managed to get the top off with not too much hassle. Micky then squirted some of the cold liquid on to his hand, and he stretched down, taking hold of Mike's erection and coating it in the lubricant.

Mike moaned at the contact, his heart racing even faster now. He looked into Micky's eyes as Micky stroked him gently, and Mike noted a look of certainty on Micky's face.

"You sure?" Mike choked in barely more than a whisper.

Micky nodded his head once more, and he tossed the lube aside, wrapping his arms around Mike's neck and pulling him into a kiss.

Mike positioned himself. His heart was racing so fast he feared he was going to have a heart-attack. Mike manoeuvred himself until he found Micky's opening. Mike broke the kiss, taking a deep breath as he breached that tight ring of muscle. Mike closed his eyes, pushing himself inside.

Mike instantly felt Micky tense around him, and when he opened his eyes he saw Micky's face contorted in pain. Mike steadied himself, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead. He pushed himself in a tiny bit further, and Micky groaned.

Mike stopped, totally overwhelmed by the incredible tightness, but horrified by the knowledge that he was hurting Micky. Micky felt like he was being torn in two, and Mike was hardly inside of him. He tried to breath slowly, to get used to the sensation, but Mike was so big and hard that Micky wondered how this could ever be enjoyable.

"W-We can stop." Mike gasped, using every piece of willpower he had not to thrust deep inside Micky.

Micky shook his head, determined to see this through. As horrible as it felt physically, he trusted Mike, and he was strangely comforted knowing Mike was inside of him.

"Just...just give me a sec." Micky breathed.

Mike stayed still, sweat now dripping down his back. Micky still had his arms around Mike, Micky's fingernails lighting digging into Mike's flesh.

Mike leaned down, kissing Micky gently on the lips once more. It was a slow, sensual kiss, and Mike could physically feel Micky relax around him. Mike plucked up the courage to push in a tiny bit further, being as slow and gentle as he possibly could. Micky broke the kiss, breathing heavily, his eyes squeezed shut as if he was concentrating on ignoring the pain.

Mike kissed Micky's neck, slow little kisses that made Micky's skin tingle. Micky felt like his whole body was now a thousand times more sensitive than before, and Micky was touched by how gentle Mike was being with him, as if Micky was a porcelain doll he was afraid to chip or break.

Mike moved out, pushing back in slowly. Slow little thrusts, gentle movements, hoping that Micky would become accustomed to the feeling. Mike had never felt anything so wonderful in his life, the feeling of being inside Micky was literally blowing his mind with every movement. It wasn't just because of the heat and the fact that he felt like his dick was in a vice, but it was the fact he was inside Micky. Mike could only wish Micky was enjoying it as much as he was.

Micky's hands slowly rubbed up and down Mike's back, and Mike felt as though Micky was starting to relax with every movement. Micky's eyes were still closed, and his breathing was deep. Mike thought he looked incredible, and he started planting kisses on the younger man once more.

Mike lost himself, and he started moaning quietly, slowly moving in a little deeper with every gentle thrust. Mike got a little carried away, his mind drifting off and his body taking over, and he buried himself deep inside Micky, causing Micky to cry out.

Mike came back to earth. "S-Sorry." Mike gasped, running his hand over Micky's face, feeling terrible for hurting this beautiful curly haired boy. "I'm sorry."

Micky winced slightly, shaking his head. "It's okay." He choked.

Mike had to totally focus himself on being careful with Micky, resisting the temptation to pound into him. Mike changed the angle of his thrusts, and he felt the head of his penis nudge against something inside of Micky.

Micky cried out again, only this time it wasn't a moan of pain - it was a moan of pleasure.

Mike paused, looking down at Micky.

"D-Do that again." Micky gasped.

Mike was a little confused, but he did as he was told, and he nudged that spot inside Micky again, a little harder this time.

"Oh _god_ !" Micky moaned, his back arching.

Mike felt Micky's muscles constrict around him, before relaxing completely. Mike didn't need asking again, and he hit that spot once more.

"Oh fuck, _Mike_." Micky groaned. "Oh god, please..."

Mike started to quicken his pace, loving that at last Micky was enjoying himself.

Micky moaned louder with every thrust, his back arching and his fingernails digging into Mike's back. Every ounce of pain Micky felt seemed to disappear, or it was at least completely overcome by the feeling of phenomenal pleasure.

"Harder." Micky begged, and Mike happily obliged, pushing into that spot with more power than he'd done before.

"Ohh_ Mike_." Micky wailed, pressing his head back into the pillow.

There was no doubt Micky was feeling immense pleasure, and this only spurred Mike on further. Knowing what he was doing to this boy drove Mike wild, and hearing Micky cry out his name was the greatest thing he'd ever heard. Mike started to push hard and deep inside Micky, sure to hit that spot on every second or third thrust, and he could feel Micky's body responding to his movements, and it was apparent Micky was now loving every second.

Mike was moaning now too, and he felt truly blessed and grateful that he was sharing this moment with Micky.

"Mick...Micky..." Mike moaned, allowing himself to call out Micky's name for the first time.

"Michael, oh god, baby..." Micky dug his fingernails into Mike's back as if he was hanging on for dear life. "Oh god, Mike!"

Mike pressed his forehead against Micky's, closing his eyes and focussing on nothing but the immense pleasure the two of them were causing each other.

Mike hit that spot inside Micky especially hard, and Micky moaned louder than ever, his whole body contracting, his back arching, and that was when Mike felt warm liquid hit against his stomach. Mike's mind was blown that Micky had reached his orgasm, and neither of them had even touched his dick. Mike was overwhelmed, wondering how amazing Micky must've felt to climax like that.

Micky's whole body relaxed around Mike, and Mike thrust deep inside him a few more times before allowing his own orgasm to hit him. Mike buried himself inside his lover, spilling everything he had into that glorious channel.

Mike collapsed on top of Micky, their bodies a mixture of sweat and come. Their breathing was out on control, and Mike felt like the room was spinning. He laid there, his face buried in the crook of Micky's neck, trying to regain his breath. He could feel Micky's heart beating underneath him, and he could feel Micky's soft hands now gently stroking his back once more.

Mike lifted his head. He looked down at Micky, who was totally flushed, sweaty, and bleary eyed. Micky gazed up at him, wonder in his eyes. Mike leaned down, gently pressing his lips against Micky's for a small kiss. Mike then broke the kiss before slowly pulling out of Micky.

Micky winced as Mike pulled out, and he felt strangely disappointed at Mike no longer being inside of him. Micky's whole body felt totally bizarre, and his mind was racing. Micky watched as Mike laid down beside him, and the pair of them stared at the ceiling as they tried to catch their breath.

Mike then sat up. Micky watched as Mike leaned over the side of the bed, picking up his boxers. Micky's heart sunk, and he felt totally hurt that Mike was about to get dressed and leave him all on his own. Only Mike didn't put the boxers on; instead, he scrunched them in a ball. Mike turned to face Micky, and he looked down at him for a second. He then used the scrunched up boxer-shorts to clean the come off Micky's stomach. Micky blushed as Mike gently wiped away the sperm, and then he turned his attention to himself, wiping away the little that had gotten on him too. Mike then balled the underwear up further, and tossed it back on the floor.

Mike then laid himself back down, pulling the covers up and over himself and Micky. They both laid there, side-by-side, the pair of them feeling a mixture of emotions. Micky stretched over, turning off the lamp. They were now in darkness and perfect silence. Micky pulled the covers up, wondering what this meant for them both.

Mike was thinking the exact same thing. He physically felt amazing, but he was scared. He'd been so sure he was leaving, and convinced it was the right thing to do. But now everything seemed an even bigger mess than before.

Micky rolled over, towards Mike, and he draped his hand over Mike's chest, cuddling him. Mike felt unsure about this contact, which was stupid seeing as they were fucking just a few minutes before. Mike could feel that Micky's body was trembling. He found it hard to believe that Micky could possibly be cold after the work-out they had just endured, but Micky was certainly shaking. Mike was worried that Micky was hurt, or that Micky regretted what they'd just done. It was as if Micky being close to Mike, was asking for some kind of reassurance.

Mike pulled his arm out from beneath Micky, and he wrapped it around him attentively. Micky then held on to Mike, lifting his head and resting it on Mike's chest. Mike wrapped his arms around Micky further, holding him in a loving embrace. The palm of Micky's hand pressed flat against Mike's chest, and he caressed him, firmly moving his hand across Mike's skin, feeling him, taking him in, moving even closer to Mike like he was scared Mike would just disappear.

Micky was scared. Mike was scared too. They held each other, wondering what all this meant, and wondering what tomorrow would bring. They comforted each other; not with their words, but with their arms, their bodies, and the hands that were lightly caressing each other. It felt as if it should be totally simple, yet they both knew it really wasn't simple at all.


	15. Chapter 15

Mike woke up the following morning, and it took a couple of seconds for him to recall the events of the night before. His stomach flipped when he remembered he and Micky had had full, actual sex. Mike opened his eyes, and he was surprised to find Micky was no longer beside him. Mike rubbed his eyes and he listened for any sounds of Micky; maybe he was in the bathroom. But there was nothing, and it was clear Mike was alone.

Mike sat up, looking at the clock. It was early - or at least early by Micky's standards - and Mike was a little unsettled that Micky wasn't still sleeping beside him.

Mike got up, showered, and got himself dressed before he went looking for Micky. Mike felt a mixture of emotions as he headed downstairs to find Micky. Mike searched the house, but Micky wasn't inside. When Mike peered out the back windows, he saw Micky sitting in the garden on the bench by the pool. Micky was just sitting there, and he looked to be in deep thought. Mike watched him for a while, wondering what on earth he was going to say to him when he approached him. Mike hoped and prayed that Micky was okay, that he didn't regret the night before. Mike was worried that he'd hurt Micky, or that maybe Micky felt dirty or used.

Mike eventually plucked up the courage to head outside. He slowly walked to where Micky was sitting, and Micky was so far away in his own little world that he didn't even notice Mike walking towards him.

Mike sat down beside Micky, but Micky kept on staring straight ahead.

"Are you okay?" Mike finally asked.

Micky nodded his head. "Yeah." He replied, looking out over the garden.

Mike played with his hands, wondering what to say next. "What are you thinkin' about?"

"About all the things I expected to happen in my life." Micky replied thoughtfully. "There's so many things I thought I'd do. So many things I thought I'd see and achieve... But I never thought in a million years I would be here like this, with you."

Mike hung his head. "Do you regret it?"

"No," Micky replied without hesitation. He then looked at Mike. "But you do, right?"

Mike remained looking at the ground. He shook his head. "No..." He replied quietly. "But I should do."

"Why?" Micky questioned.

"Because it was wrong." Mike said solemnly.

Micky looked ahead again. "It didn't feel wrong."

"That ain't the point." Mike looked ahead.

Micky looked at Mike once more. "What is the point then, Mike?"

Mike pondered Micky's question. "I don't know. I don't know anythin' anymore."

Micky sighed, looking around the garden. "It's been nearly four years since we met... Four years since I've felt...the way I feel. I never would've said anything, not ever. And then you kissed me... I don't understand it. I didn't even think you liked me anymore."

Mike looked at Micky, shocked. "You've felt... all this time?"

"Shocker, isn't it? Big-Mouth-Micky keeping something like this to himself for all this time."

"I..I had no idea." Mike was stunned. "You've been with all those women."

"So? It was like trying to fill a bucket with a hole in it."

Mike's head was in a spin. "But you're...you're not..." He trailed off.

Micky looked at Mike. "Gay?"

Mike looked away.

"No, I'm not gay. I haven't been living some double life, if that's what you're thinking. I've not been banging men on the sly. There's never been anyone else. I don't look at guys like that. It's... it's just you. It's only you."

Mike looked at Micky, and Micky looked down. "I don't understand..." Mike said quietly.

"Neither do I." Micky looked at Mike again. "You're not gay either, but there's still this...thing."

Mike looked uncomfortable, playing with his hands nervously.

"I...feel stuff...for you." Micky said awkwardly. "I don't know how, or why, but I just..._do_."

Mike looked totally lost, staring ahead. "What do you want, Micky?"

"You know what I want. I told you." Micky replied.

Mike looked at Micky, who was now watching Mike expectantly. "What, you want us to be together, is that it?"

Micky looked a little embarrassed, but he nodded his head.

Mike scratched his chin, shaking his head in disbelief.

"What?" Micky questioned. "Why don't you tell me how you feel, Mike? I've told you where I'm at, but what about you?"

Mike stood up. "I ain't doing this with you."

"Well it's a little late to go all shy on me." Micky hit back.

Mike glared at Micky. "This is a waste of time."

"Why is it? Why is it a waste of time?" Micky was getting frustrated. "I care about you, and I think you might care about me too."

Mike looked away.

"You said you didn't regret last night. You'd regret it if it was just some stupid mistake."

"It _was_ a mistake."

Micky looked a little hurt. "I don't know how you can say that. You wouldn't have done it if you didn't want me."

"That ain't-" Mike was flustered now, and he was stressed out he didn't know how to handle this situation. "It ain't as black and white as that."

"Why not?" Micky stood up, facing Mike. "What is up with all these mixed messages? You keep saying you're leaving, but you always stay. Why won't you talk to me?"

"Because there's no point, Micky!" Mike raised his voice. "Will you quit goin' on at me?"

"No, I fucking won't." Micky snapped. "I let you fuck me last night. No, I didn't _let_ you; I asked you to. I _wanted_ you to, and you wanted to as well. So don't give me all this bullshit about how there's "no point" in talking about things, when I have just laid myself out on a fucking plate for you."

Mike turned his back and started walking away from Micky. He was in a total flap, and he was feeling completely out of his depth. Mike felt Micky grab hold of his arm, stopping him from walking away.

"God dammit Mike, we're in this thing together!" Micky snapped, turning Mike to face him.

"We ain't in anything, Micky. I told you, I ain't doin' this with you." Mike's voice was strained.

"Stop with the bullshit, for God's sake." Micky spat bitterly.

"What do you want from me, Micky?!" Mike snapped.

"I told you what I want! What do _you_ want from _me_?" Micky asked seriously.

Mike was thrown. He stared at Micky, and he could see how frustrated Micky was. Micky looked at Mike with desperation and annoyance in his eyes, totally confused by Mike's inability to open up.

Mike opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. It should've been such a simple question - at the end of the day, Mike knew exactly what he wanted from Micky. But he didn't know how to say it.

Micky stared at him, those almond shaped eyes narrowed, willing Mike to speak.

"It's a simple question, Michael." Micky assured him.

Mike took a deep breath, leaning closer to Micky. "It don't matter what I want, or what you want, or what _we_ want. Because it can't happen."

Micky's shoulders slumped. "But why?"

"Why do you think, Micky?!" Mike was exasperated. "Get your head out of the clouds, boy! You really think it's that simple? You think we can run off into the sunset together? Is that what you think? Is that what you want?!"

"I never said it was simple! Do you think this is easy for me? That this is some sort of fucking joke? I've been shoving my feelings for you under the carpet for nearly four years! If you hadn't have kissed me in the first place, we wouldn't be in this mess!"

Mike stepped back. Micky was right; but it hurt. Mike felt like he'd been kicked in the balls.

Micky was losing control now, his anger and frustration bubbling to the surface. "If you don't want me, that's fine. If you feel nothing for me, and I was just some dumb little fuck-toy to occupy your boring, miserable life then that's fine too. I'm not going to fucking beg for you, I might've let you fuck me last night but believe it or not I do have a tiny shred of self-respect left, you fucking dick!"

Mike stared at Micky before turning and walking back towards the house.

"Yeah, that's right! You run away again, you fucking coward!" Micky shouted after him. "If you think I'm going to wait around for you, you're wrong!"

Mike walked inside, slamming the door behind him, and Micky slumped back down on the bench with his face in his hands. Micky was so angry, so frustrated and so confused by Mike and his inability to communicate with him. Micky regretted what he said, and he felt a little bad for losing his patience - but he was at a total loss as to how to handle Mike.

* * *

Micky paced the house all day. Mike had gone off in his car, and Micky was almost tearing his hair out. He was so stressed out, working himself up into such a state yet again, scared that Mike wouldn't even bother coming home.

Micky didn't blame Mike for wanting space, as much as it frustrated him. Micky felt like he was fighting a losing battle, but all he wanted to do was get through to Mike; or at least get Mike to open up to him.

It was quite late in the evening when Mike finally arrived home - he'd been gone the best part of 10 hours. Micky was laid spaced-out on the couch when he finally heard Mike's car pull up outside. Micky stood, waiting for Mike to enter. He was so worried Mike would head straight upstairs, gather his things and walk straight back out again.

Mike finally walked into the sitting room, greeted by the sight of Micky standing there waiting for him.

"Where have you been?" Micky asked softly.

"Out." Mike replied.

"Where?" Micky questioned.

"Drivin' around."

Micky looked to the floor. "I just want you to talk to me." He spoke quietly. "We're in this thing together, whether you want to admit it or not. But you're making me feel like I'm all on my own even though we're going through the same thing. I need to talk to you. I need you to talk to me, but you're just shutting me out. I can't talk to anyone else about this, and neither can you...even if we could, no one would understand. We only have each other in this, so please...please don't push me away. I don't know what I'm doing."

Mike sighed sadly, looking at Micky's troubled face. Mike had spent the whole day trying to figure things out, but it all seemed hopeless.

"I ain't trying to hurt you, Mick." Mike said, his voice kind and gentle. "But I can't give you what you want."

Micky looked up, and his eyes were filled with sadness. "Why?"

Mike closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Because I can't, Micky. _We_ can't. It would never work."

Micky stepped closer to Mike. "But if we kept it a secret...nobody needs to know about us. We've done- we've done so much stuff already, and nobody has a clue."

Mike shook his head. "Micky, it ain't as easy as that."

"I know it's not easy, but that doesn't mean it's wrong." Micky protested. "It's nobody's business but ours what we get up to in our own homes or our own bedrooms. I've done some seriously weird stuff with a few girls in the past that I'm sure Tiger Beat and all those teen magazines wouldn't be thrilled about, but they don't know about it because it's none of their damn business. So why would it be any different for us?"

Mike rubbed his face, frustrated but strangely in awe of Micky's positivity. "You know why it'd be different. Do you really have any idea what you're suggesting?"

"I do, because I've done nothing but think about it all day long." Micky spoke with certainty. "I care about you. I don't know why, but I do. It's out now, and I'm not going to pretend it's not there. And I'm pretty sure you feel something for me too, because you wouldn't have put up with me all this time if not."

"You know I do." Mike whispered, looking down.

"So why shouldn't we be together? Why should we pretend our feelings don't exist because of a bunch of people that don't matter?"

"Mick, I ain't talkin' about the people that don't matter. I don't give a shit about what anyone thinks of me." Mike looked at Micky hard, trying to get him to understand. "You make it sound so simple, but it ain't. We're famous, Micky. I'm married. I have _kids_."

"I know, I know." Micky rubbed his face, looking a little defeated. "I know things are more complicated for you. I know you have responsibilities and I don't. But if we're careful, nobody ever has to know. It'll be our little secret."

"Little secret?" Mike questioned. "You make it sound like we had one drunken kiss after a dare or somethin'."

"Come on Mike, throw me a bone here." Micky groaned. "I'm trying my best here. I'm trying to figure something out. I know this isn't easy, but what's the alternative?"

Mike stood there, wanting so much to agree to Micky's suggestion.

"You think we're the only people in this kind of situation, but we're not." Micky went on. "There's loads of people like us that have secret relationships."

"People like us?" Mike questioned.

"Yeah, people like us." Micky stood firm. "People who want to be together, but have a million reasons not to be together."

"You seriously want to be with me, Micky?" Mike pressed.

Micky was a little taken aback by the question, and he felt a little embarrassed. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

Mike rubbed his face again, and he walked across the room. He sat down on the couch, running his hands through his hair.

"I want to be with you." Micky repeated. "But you knew that already."

Mike leaned forward, his face in his hands. He then looked towards the ceiling, trying to breathe steadily.

"Look...if you don't want to be with me too, then that's fine." Micky said gently. "But if you do...then I don't think we should have to stifle our feelings because of everyone else."

Mike closed his eyes, sighing deeply. He was so conflicted, his heart telling him one thing, but his mind telling him another.

Mike was silent for a long time, trying to properly process his thoughts, and trying to think rationally.

"Do you really know what you're suggesting, Micky?" Mike repeated the question he'd asked earlier. He then looked up at Micky, who was watching him intently. Mike rose to his feet, facing the curly haired man. "Do you honestly believe you could be happy keeping something like this a secret?"

"Yeah." Micky replied, sounding pretty certain.

Mike stepped closer to Micky. "You'd be happy to lie to everyone you love, your family, your friends? You'd seriously be okay with that?"

Micky shrugged his shoulders, looking a little less certain than before. "I'd get used to it."

"You're close to your family, Mick. Closer than I am to mine. And you have more friends, too" Mike went on. "Would you want us to see other people?"

Micky looked a little flummoxed. "I uh, I don't know... N-No."

"You wouldn't hook up with girls anymore?" Mike pressed.

Micky shook his head. "N-No. I don't want anyone else." He started blushing.

"So you don't think your pals would think it's strange when Micky the babe-magnet stops pickin' up chicks?" Mike looked at Micky hard, and he could see the certainty on Micky's face begin to fade.

"I-I don't know." Micky was looking a little flustered.

"You're one of the most open and honest people I know." Mike looked Micky right in the eye. "It's one of the things I- one of the things I dig about you. You're a talker. Look at how mad you are at me for not talkin' to you. How are you going to feel about not being able to talk to people about somethin' as big as this?"

Micky gulped. "I don't care about other people."

Mike stepped closer to Micky, and he lightly touched the side of his face. "You _do_ though, Mick."

"Lots of people keep secrets. I've done a pretty good job at hiding the way I feel about you for long enough, haven't I?" Micky was starting to look a bit more certain again. "And you kept a mistress, the only reason people found out about her was because she got pregnant. I know you might think I act like a girl sometimes, but there's no chance of you knocking _me_ up."

Mike sighed, nodding his head, accepting Micky's point. "You deserve better than livin' a lie. You deserve better than being kept as a secret, like somethin' I should be ashamed of."

Micky placed his hands on Mike's shoulders. "It's different though, isn't it? We're both single, we're not hurting anyone. Your marriage is...your marriage is over. You know that. You've known that for ages. You said yourself you were never happy. It's not like by being with me, you'd be betraying Phyllis. It's a little late to worry about hurting her."

Mike pulled away from Micky, not looking best pleased with that comment.

"I'm sorry." Micky said quickly, holding on to Mike again. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to pressure you, I just... There's something here. There's something between us. And I know you're scared of it, because I'm scared too. But it's real and it can't be ignored. We tried that already, and look what happened. It didn't really work, did it?"

Mike hung his head. For every valid point Mike made, Micky made another one straight back.

"It ain't right, Mick." Mike choked. "It's too dangerous."

"I don't care." Micky protested, stroking Mike's face. "I think it could be worth it."

"What the hell do you see in me?" Mike wondered, looking at Micky in amazement.

Micky shrugged, brushing the wave of dark hair out of Mike's eye. "Ever since I first saw you in that silly green hat...there was something about you. I don't know what it was, but it was there. I was so intimidated by you, but you were actually a really cool guy."

Mike tilted his head to the side. "You were intimidated by me?"

"Of course I was. You had this mysterious vibe going on. You were so...I dunno. So sure of yourself, I guess."

Mike frowned slightly. "Is that how you see me?" He wondered.

"No, not anymore." Micky shook his head. "I just really dug the way you knew what you wanted and weren't afraid of getting it. And the way you humoured me, you know, put up with me, even though I could be annoying and over the top. Even when I got under your skin, wound you up, annoyed you, I still knew you'd look out for me. And you've _always_ looked out for me. You're so damn funny without even trying, and you're kind. I know you like to make out you're as hard as nails, but underneath... you're lovely."

Micky could see - and feel - Mike visibly tense up. Mike suddenly looked hideously uncomfortable with the kind words, and Micky thought it looked as though Mike literally wanted to run a million miles in the opposite direction.

Micky stepped back from Mike, feeling a little embarrassed and fearful that he'd totally freaked Mike out. "I'm sorry, I'm coming on too strong." He said quickly, panicked. "I just do this, I get carried away with things and I don't know when to shut up. I just get something in my head and I run with it. I-I'm sorry, I'm pushing you too hard. I'm being an inconsiderate dick."

"Micky, it's-"

"I'm being so selfish," Micky went on, talking fast. "I'm just getting ahead of myself, I'm getting carried away... I'm only thinking about me. I mean, I'm thinking about you too, but I'm being really selfish. I'm sorry, Mike. You probably want to get away from me now."

"Mick, it's alright." Mike was thrown by Micky's distress.

"I'm asking too much of you." Micky said sadly, looking down. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. Just...don't worry about it. I'm not being fair."

Mike sighed, and Micky felt terrible.

"I think I'm going to get an early night." Micky continued. "If you wanna go, I get it. It's okay. I'll...I'll maybe see you tomorrow."

Micky put his head down and rushed out of the room.

Mike stood there, taken aback by Micky's panic. Mike felt horribly guilty that Micky had said all those kind things about him, and all Mike could do was freeze.

Mike sat himself down on the couch where he sat for another hour. He went over everything Micky had said to him. Mike wanted to live in Micky's head; his positivity was infectious..._almost_. Mike was envious of the way Micky seemed to believe everything would be alright, and he admired the way Micky fought so hard even though Mike gave him so little back.

Mike eventually made his way upstairs. He crept past Micky's bedroom, heading to his own room. Mike changed for bed and brushed his teeth. He stood in front of the mirror for ages, staring at his reflection, wondering what he'd become, what he was considering, what he wanted.

Mike stepped out of the bathroom into his bedroom. He stared at his bed; it looked so lonely and cold. Mike stood there for ages just staring at his bed, before leaving his room altogether. He crept back along the landing, pausing outside Micky's bedroom door. Mike pressed his ear against it, listening through - it was dead silent inside.

Mike sighed to himself, turning to walk away - but he stopped. Mike turned around, going back to Micky's door again. He quietly opened it, peaking inside. A beam of light flowed through the open door onto Micky curled up in bed. Mike couldn't tell whether Micky was asleep or not.

Micky was laid facing outside of the bed, his long legs pulled up underneath him so he was in the fetal position. Mike was fascinated how someone so long could manage to look so small; it was almost as if Micky was in a little ball.

Mike quietly closed the door behind him, tip-toeing to the other side of the bed. He carefully pulled the covers back, climbing in bed next to Micky. Mike still couldn't tell whether Micky was asleep or not, but he wasted no time in cuddling up behind Micky, curling himself around the curly haired boy in an almost protective fashion.

Mike draped his arm over Micky, gently pulling him closer. He still didn't know whether Micky was asleep or not, but Mike didn't care; he just wanted Micky to be close to him, and_ he_ wanted to be close to Micky.

After several moments, Micky rolled over to face Mike. He didn't say a word, he just wrapped his arms around Mike and pulled him even closer, burying his face in Mike's chest. Mike sighed contently, closing his eyes and soon drifting off into a peaceful sleep.


	16. Chapter 16

Mike woke up the next morning in the same position he'd fallen asleep, with his arms wrapped around Micky. Mike realised that the best nights' sleep he'd had in months had been the three nights he'd slept beside Micky, which baffled him somewhat as he'd always preferred to sleep on his own. Mike always moaned that beds in general weren't big enough for two people, and Mike usually liked his personal space. Yet the three nights he'd slept with Micky were three of the best sleeps he could remember having.

Mike laid awake watching Micky sleep for the best part of an hour. When Micky finally awoke, he was shocked to find that Mike was still lying beside him.

Mike thought Micky looked absolutely lovely as he woke up, his hair a mess, his eyes all bleary, his face looking more boyish and sweet than ever. Micky stretched himself out, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, and he finally managed to focus on Mike, who was watching him intently.

"I thought you might've gone." Micky said huskily.

Mike shook his head, reaching out and lightly touching Micky's curls.

Micky looked back at Mike through sleepy-eyes, genuinely surprised to find the Texan still next to him.

"I'm sorry about last night. I pushed you too hard-"

"Shhh." Mike put his finger to Micky's lips.

Micky looked at Mike with uncertainty, still not understanding where Mike was at or what he was planning to do.

"I need you to understand what you'd be givin' up because of me." Mike said seriously.

"I don't see it like that." Micky replied softly.

Mike gently stroked Micky's hair. "You've built a career since you were a kid. If anyone found out what we've been doin', it would be over. Everythin' you've ever worked for."

"Well you said the other day, at least I've got something to fall back on. I can make stuff, make toys and furniture and things like that for a living." Micky sounded so positive when he spoke. "It's not like I don't have enough money to last me a while. Years, if I'm sensible."

"But you need to sing, Micky. People need to hear your voice." Mike looked at Micky hard.

"Why are you just talking about me and what I've got to lose?" Micky questioned. "We're both in the same boat here. You've got more to lose than me. Your...your kids. I've been so thoughtless. It's worse for you, so please stop making out I'm the only one that's important."

Mike didn't say anything, he just looked at Micky sadly.

"We've both got things at stake here, Mike." Micky frowned. "That night after The Scarlett, you said you wanted to protect me. Is that what you meant? You want to protect me from all the stuff I might lose if we're together?"

Mike's eyes looked down, though he carried on fiddling with one of Micky's curls. "You deserve more than what I can give you."

"I don't want anything else." Micky protested gently. "Please don't say things like that. It's not true."

Mike looked at Micky once more. "I just... I don't want to hurt you."

"I don't want to hurt you either." Micky brushed Mike's hair from his eyes. "I want you to be happy... Even if it isn't with me."

Mike looked at Micky for a long time. They watched each other, lying face-to-face.

"Can I ask you a question?" Mike asked quietly.

Micky tilted his head to the side. "What is it?"

"Did I...did I hurt you? Did it hurt too much, you know, when we...you know..." Mike's face flushed red.

Micky felt a little embarrassed. "At first it did, it hurt a bit... a lot, actually. And then it got better... it sort of just felt kinda weird. And then uh, and then it just felt good. _Really_ good. Amazing, actually."

"Were you hurt afterwards?" Mike was embarrassed asking these questions, and he hoped Micky didn't mind being asked them. But it'd been playing on Mike's mind, and he needed to know the answers.

"I was a little sore, yeah... For a while yesterday it was kinda sore, but then it got better." Micky replied, his cheeks blushing slightly.

Mike nodded his head slowly.

"But I-I really liked it. It was really, really amazing. I hope you enjoyed it too...I mean, it seemed like you did, but I know- well, I think - you haven't had, you know, proper sex in a while...so I don't know if that's why you enjoyed it or not."

"I did... it was incredible. _You_ were incredible." Mike reassured him.

Micky's face burned even brighter. "Really? Because I didn't really know what I was doing. I didn't feel like I did much. I just sort of laid there."

Mike smiled gently. "You were perfect."

Micky looked down bashfully, his cheeks a sweet shade of red and a small smile pressed against his lips. Micky then looked up at Mike again, biting his lip. "I'd like to do it again one day...maybe... if you'd want to. Maybe it'd be better next time."

Mike's heart fluttered, and he touched Micky's face. "You're beautiful."

Micky's stomach turned and twisted in excited knots. Mike had never said anything like that to Micky before, and Micky could hardly contain the smile on his face.

"So are you." Micky smiled.

Mike's own smile faded, and he pulled away his hand away slowly. Mike once again tensed up at the compliment, looking totally unsure how to deal with the kind words.

Micky watched Mike, strangely fascinated by his trouble at accepting compliments. Micky reached out, brushing back that sweep of dark hair that had flopped back over Mike's eye once more.

"What are you thinking?" Micky asked in a childlike manner.

"Kiss me." Mike ordered.

A huge smile spread across Micky's face, lighting up the entire room. Micky leaned forward, pressing a soft and tender kiss to Mike's lips.

Micky pulled back, looking Mike in the eye. Mike stroked the side of Micky's face, and Micky's breath got caught in his throat.

"Come here." Mike opened his arms up to Micky, who quickly shuffled into them.

Mike had had Micky pegged as a cuddler from the word go, and the way Micky seemed to mould into his arms only confirmed his suspicions.

"Can we just stay here all day?" Micky mumbled into Mike's chest.

"What, lie in bed all day long?" Mike questioned.

"Mhm." Micky replied, nodding. "The house is all locked up. We're safe here... it'll be like we're in our own little world."

Micky's innocence flawed Mike. The way he was so positive and determined was both comforting and unsettling for Mike. Micky was absolutely a dreamer, and Mike knew that for now, Micky was perfectly happy with them shutting themselves away in their "own little world". Mike wasn't so sure about how long it would take until Micky became dissatisfied with having to hide themselves away, and that was what troubled him. Micky was a sharing, honest person, and Mike feared it wouldn't be long until the novelty of their little secret wore off.

For now though, Mike felt content. He didn't have the strength or the will power to do the "right thing" and tell Micky this could never happen. For now, Mike was happy. However long it would last, in this moment, Mike felt at almost complete peace. The idea of lying in bed all day wasn't usually something that he would enjoy; lying in bed with Micky however, seemed more than appealing.

* * *

Micky, not being a morning person, dozed in and out of sleep until lunch time. Mike continued lying beside him, his mind working over-time as he thought of all the pros and cons of a potential "secret relationship".

'Relationship', Mike thought, was such a strong word. After the breakdown of his marriage, Mike never really thought or envisioned himself being in a relationship again. That's not to say he didn't want to, it just didn't really cross his mind; it simply wasn't on his radar.

Mike had been in denial about his feelings for Micky for as long as he could remember, to the point that he didn't even really know they were there. Suddenly those feelings had hit him like a tsunami, that night when Micky passed out on the couch, and since then everything had been a messy blur of confusion, tension, and things moving at lightning speed. Everything had happened so fast, within the space of a couple of weeks, and Mike couldn't help feeling a little overwhelmed. Micky seemed to want to get in deep, fast. Micky appeared to know what he wanted, and he wanted it _now_.

Mike's feelings for Micky were strong - frightfully strong. Mike was scared of really truly reflecting on those feelings. Mike worried about Micky, not wanting Micky to get himself into something too deep just to realise it wasn't what he wanted after all. There was so much to think about, and Mike felt like he was losing control once again. His body and heart wanted to be with Micky, but his head was still telling him something wasn't quite right about this whole situation for a number of reasons.

* * *

When Micky finally woke up, he was hungry. He persuaded Mike to stay in bed while he went downstairs to make them some lunch. Micky had returned to the bedroom with a huge plate full of a selection of sandwiches.

The pair of them munched in silence on Micky's bed, and Mike watched as Micky was about to finish up his third enormous sandwich.

"What?" Micky asked with his mouth full, noticing Mike looking at him in disbelief.

"I don't understand how you can eat so much." Mike responded dead-pan.

"I'm hungry." Micky shrugged, taking another bite.

"You eat loads, boy." Mike shook his head. "I dunno how it all fits in that body of yours."

Micky looked down at himself. "Well I'm trying to gain weight, aren't I?"

"You don't need to gain weight," Mike begun as Micky finished the last of his sandwich. "You're just fine the way you are."

Micky couldn't help but smile. He swallowed his last mouthful, moving the empty plate to the nightstand. "And when did you start thinking I was 'just fine'?"

Mike looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"Well, have you always thought I was _fine_?" Micky questioned, his eyes wide in curiosity.

"I don't get it." Mike replied blankly.

"I was trying to be smooth." Micky sighed. "What I mean is, when did you first, you know, find me attractive?"

Mike, yet again, looked uncomfortable with the question. "I don't know."

"Well you must have some idea." Micky laughed. "I told you when I first looked at you like that. Well it wasn't so much an attraction...well, I guess it was, but it wasn't really a physical thing, at least not right away anyway. So what about you with me?"

"I said I don't know, Micky." Mike sounded a little tense.

"Come on, you gotta know." Micky poked Mike on the arm playfully. "Tell me."

"Why's it important anyway?" Mike was starting to get annoyed now.

Micky's face dropped, realising Mike wasn't best impressed. "Because I'm interested. I mean, you're obviously attracted to me, or otherwise we wouldn't have done all the stuff we've done."

Mike just sat there, looking around the room.

"Why are you being weird about this?" Micky questioned, feeling a little annoyed. "It's not a big question."

"How can you say that?" Mike asked in disbelief. "Do ya think this whole thing ain't a big deal at all?"

"What- of course I do." Now it was Micky's turn to look on in disbelief. "Jeez, I only asked when it was you started to like me like that."

"Well I don't get why it's important." Mike said firmly. "You know how I feel about you, so why ain't that enough?"

"I don't really know how you feel about me, because you've never actually said." Micky felt a little put out. "You're obviously an action-rather-than-words kinda guy. The way you look at me and touch me, and the way you hold me...well, that tells me you care. All those things tell me you care, but you don't really say that in words."

"Can we drop this?" Mike was getting agitated.

"Not really, no." Micky stood his ground, and Mike cast his eyes to the ceiling in annoyance. "I don't get you. You come to my room, we cuddle each other all night long, you laze around in bed with me half the day but you can't tell me when you first had feelings for me? What's that all about?"

Mike looked away.

"We've had sex, you've sucked my dick, but then you act like you're all shy and you won't talk to me?" Micky was trying to hold on to his patience.

"Why don't you just accept that no means no, Micky?" Mike asked sternly.

"Because it's stupid." Micky hit back. "I'm not like some total stranger asking these questions. It's_ me_."

Mike rubbed his face, trying to think of a way to explain things to Micky without losing his temper.

"Everythin' seems so simple to you. It's all so easy and straight-forward...it's like you don't find this whole thing weird at all. It's like it's all totally natural and normal for you to be with me like this." Mike explained.

Micky's face scrunched up in confusion. "I don't even... I don't even know how to answer that. What a stupid thing to say."

Mike dropped his head, sighing to himself.

"It was weird the first time we kissed, yeah." Micky started. "It was weird the first time we fooled around. It was weird when I first sucked you off, and when we had sex. All those things were weird because they were new and they were different. But in my book, 'weird' doesn't mean bad. It just means...well it means something you're not used to."

Mike sat there listening to Micky.

"And as for 'normal', well... I like you - you know I like you. I'm crazy about you, though sometimes it's hard to understand why... And it's complicated and fucked up and weird because it's different, but for all the weirdness and the complications there's something between us that just sort of clicks. I don't know what it is or why, but it's there and I'm not going pretend it's not just because it's not 'easy' for us to feel this way."

Micky seemed to be getting confused by his own words, but Mike seemed to understand them.

"Is this because we're two men? Or would you be having this same problem if I was a chick?" Micky questioned.

Mike found it an interesting question, and he pondered the answer.

"Because, you know, if I have to put on a dress and a pair of heels for you to fucking open up to me, I will." Micky held up his arms in a "I surrender" fashion.

"This ain't a joke, Micky." Mike was a little offended.

"You're right, it's not. Because jokes are funny and I'm sure as hell not laughing." Micky hit back. "I'm not asking for much. All I wanted to know was when you started liking me. You'd think I was asking you for the answer to world peace."

"I just... I can't do this, Mick. It's too..." Mike trailed off.

"Too what?" Micky questioned.

"Real." Mike looked down. "Everything's happening so fast. I don't...I don't know where I am."

"I told you you could go, and I meant it." Micky reassured him. "You could've left. You could've left last night, and all the other nights, but you didn't. And not only did you stay, but you stayed in my bed. Don't you get why I'm confused? Don't you understand how hard it is for me to not know where you're at?"

Mike closed his eyes, sighing deeply and hanging his head. "I'm sorry, Mick. I ain't tryin' to fuck with your head."

"Well you kinda are." Micky said honestly. "And believe it or not, I'm not trying to fuck-up your life."

"I know you ain't." Mike rubbed his face. "I just don't know what we're doing here, Mick."

"I'm not stupid, you know." Micky said, his confidence slipping. "This is- this is a big deal to me too. This isn't just some silly little thing that I don't really care about. Just because I'm comfortable with you, doesn't mean... well it doesn't mean I'd want anyone else to know about this, I mean, you know, if things were different. Say things were totally normal and we could just do whatever we wanted, no complications, no nothing. Well even then, I still wouldn't want to tell my family or my friends or anyone yet, because I'm not ready. I'm not ready for that. I'm not ready to deal with anyone else's thoughts or opinions or any shit like that... I don't care about the outside world right now. I only care about me and you. I want to get to know you properly... I want us to figure out where we're at and where we're going together. I'm not used to this sort of thing... I haven't been in many relationships. I've never had to deal with anything so fucked up and complicated... So I need help. I don't need mixed messages and you shutting me out."

Mike nodded slowly, understanding what Micky meant and how he felt.

"I know everything has happened fast, but it's happened now. I mean, we had sex. Like that's a pretty big deal. I know I sleep around a lot, and I know that probably cheapens sex, but with you it's different...and not just because you're a man. When I see you, I don't see a guy with a penis; I see _Mike_. I see this tall, dark-haired total weirdo who has such a big heart buried deep inside somewhere. And I know you're probably wondering why the hell you let things get so far with an idiot like me... but you _have_ let it get this far, Mike."

Mike watched Micky. Micky said a lot of words, but he looked far from confident. When Micky spoke like this, Mike thought it looked as if the words were just falling out of Micky's mouth. Mike found it sweet and endearing. The ease of which Micky spoke about his thoughts, feelings and fears filled Mike with envy, although he could see Micky was troubled. The words may have fallen from his mouth, but they weren't easy to say.

"You talk a lot, boy." Mike said softly.

Micky looked down. He felt embarrassed. He wished he could stop himself from opening himself up to Mike, but he hoped that would encourage Mike to talk back. However, it only seemed to leave Micky feeling exposed.

"You have a huge iron wall around you." Micky said sadly, playing with his hands. "You won't let me in."

"Maybe you won't like what's inside." Mike replied.

Micky looked up. His eyes were filled with sadness. "Why didn't you just go? Do you feel sorry for me or something?"

"No, no, no." Mike suddenly felt hideously guilty. "No, Mick. That ain't why I stayed."

"Is it just the sex? Do you just want me for sex, is that it?" Micky wondered.

Mike felt genuinely hurt by that comment. "Do you honestly think that?"

"No. But then again I don't know what to think; my head's a fucking mess. You think just because I talk, I'm not feeling messed up too. But I am." Micky now looked on the brink of totally giving up.

"I knew this would happen." Mike replied sadly. "I knew you'd ask for more than I could give."

"Fuck that shit, man." Micky snapped, climbing off the bed and shocking Mike. "That is such a load of crap! You're just too damn proud to talk about your feelings, it's so fucked up! Do you think _real_ men don't talk about their feelings or something, is that it? And I'm just some stupid pussy, I'm not a real man because I talk a lot and don't pretend I'm something I'm not?"

Mike was stunned by Micky's change in mood.

"Do you want me to be your little bitch or something?!" Micky went on, and he looked borderline-distressed and sounded completely insecure. "You don't see me as a real man so I'm just some little fuck-buddy, all play and no talk, is that what you want from me?!"

"Micky, calm down." Mike stood up quickly, holding his arms out to Micky. "That ain't-"

"Because I'm not like that. That's not who I am! So what if I can be sensitive, that doesn't mean I'm weak. It doesn't mean I'm not a real man, or I'm gay. Because I'm not fucking gay!"

"Micky, please." Mike was horrified by Micky's outburst. "I know you ain't. That ain't- that ain't what I think. I don't think that at all."

Micky stood there flushed and embarrassed, shocked by his own reaction. He suddenly felt horribly insecure about his sexuality, his manhood and Mike's feelings for him. He felt as if he was naked in a room full of people, exposed to be looked at and pointed at while everyone else remained fully-clothed and guarded.

Micky turned to walk out, but Mike quickly stopped him, grabbing hold of his arm.

"Please don't walk away from me." Mike almost pleaded.

"What about all those times you walked away from me when I wanted to talk?" Micky's voice sounded strained.

"Mick, please sit down. Please, baby." Mike sounded desperate, and under no circumstances did he want Micky to walk away from him when he was so het-up.

Micky broke eye contact with Mike, looking down like he was utterly embarrassed.

"Micky," Mike took hold of Micky's chin, lifting his head. "Don't ever talk like that. That ain't how I see you at all."

"You treat me like I'm pathetic." Micky looked Mike in the eye. "You talk about wanting to protect me, like I can't handle shit. Before we first kissed, you listed all my hang-ups as if you were using them against me to prove how weak I am. But I'm not weak. I've dealt with so much fucking shit. I've dealt with my feelings for you for years. So fuck you."

"I'm sorry." Mike pleaded, stroking Micky's hair. "Mick, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel like that. That ain't what I was trying to do. I don't- I don't know how to deal with this. If anything, I'm the weak one. You ain't weak, babe. You ain't. I don't think that. Please don't think I do."

Micky hung his head. For once, he didn't know what to say.

Mike stepped back, giving Micky a little space, sensing his embarrassment and discomfort. Mike could tell Micky was insecure, and he'd always known that Micky wasn't as confident as he made out he was.

Mike slumped down on the bed. He felt totally stressed out once again, and the fact that he'd distressed Micky so much made his stomach hurt. Mike felt real pain at seeing Micky upset and angry, and that spooked him even more. It was as if his feelings for the curly haired man were growing by the second.

"I don't talk 'cause I'm scared." Mike confessed. "I don't talk because then all this will be real. It ain't some pretty little dream that don't touch the real world. It ain't a fairy tale. What I feel for you...that's real. It's real and it scares me. We can shut ourselves in here all day long and it'll be groovy and nice and we can do that over and over but one day we have to go outside. We have to go outside and we have to look people in the eye and act like we ain't got this thing goin' on here. But we have, Mick."

Micky looked down at Mike who was sitting forward on the bed, staring at the carpet.

"We're two different people," Mike continued. "I don't find it easy to open up like you do. I don't know why...maybe it's my ma. Maybe it's just me."

Micky chewed the inside of his lip nervously.

"I wanna be with ya, Mick." Mike admitted. "This ain't just sex and it never could be. Don't you ever think I see you as a 'little bitch'. You think like that and I'll throttle you, boy."

"Sorry..." Micky said in a small voice, hanging his head. "I don't really think that."

Mike looked up at Micky. "This is going too quick. Everythin' I thought I knew about myself was a lie."

"It's the same for me too." Micky responded quietly, walking to the bed and sitting next to Mike. "I'm scared just like you. I want us to help each other deal with this. Everything I thought I was is wrong too. I ignored my feelings for you like they didn't matter because I never thought they _could_ matter, and now we're here like this. It's surreal and it's scary and it's _weird_."

Mike turned to Micky. "But weird don't mean bad, right?"

"Exactly. It's just...well, it's just weird." Micky sighed.

Mike nodded his head slowly in agreement.

"I'm a nag..." Micky mumbled.

"No... you're an open book."

"Which is one of the reasons why you don't think you should be with me." Micky said sadly.

"Yet it's one of the reasons why I want to." Mike responded, looking at Micky once more.

Micky sighed, his mind feeling tired.

"Maybe we don't need to put a label on this thing." Mike continued. "While I'm livin' here I guess it's easier. It ain't really sneakin' around, 'cause I'm already here. We're already here...together. Maybe we just see where this goes."

Micky nodded his head slowly in agreement. "It has gone pretty fast. We kinda did things backwards... I mean, usually you express interest in someone before you- well, do what we've done."

"Yeah..." Mike was thoughtful. "It's snowballed."

"Maybe staying in bed all day was a bad idea..." Micky scratched his head. "I feel like I need a little breather. I've come on too strong and I feel like an idiot, to be honest."

"Don't feel like that." Mike pleaded.

"I do. It's just me... I do this, don't I? I don't need to explain. You know what I'm like, how I get ahead of myself - ahead of everything. I've suffocated you. I've suffocated _me_."

"If you need space, I get it." Mike assured him. "I want you to be okay."

Micky turned to Mike. "Maybe tomorrow we could spend some time together? I mean, like, hang out or something. Every time we've been around each other lately we've either ended up arguing or tearing each other's clothes off - there's been no in between. Maybe we could just hang out as friends... I don't know, watch TV or listen to some music together like we used to."

Mike smiled. "I'd like that. I'd like that a lot."

"Really? Because normally my ideas are pretty bad." Micky laughed.

Mike looked at Micky seriously. "I'm sorry I upset you."

"You didn't upset me." Micky was a little defensive. "I just... I don't know."

"As long as you're alright though." Mike was on edge.

"I'm fine. What can I say; I'm a drama queen." Micky joked.

Mike didn't find it funny, and he knew Micky didn't either. Mike wasn't convinced about Micky being "fine", but he also didn't want to be a hypocrite and push him too hard.

"Tomorrow we hang out, you and me." Mike looked Micky dead in the eye.

Micky smiled once more. "Definitely."

* * *

So Micky and Mike got themselves dressed and went their separate ways for the rest of the day. Mike went for another long drive, while Micky went to his workshop to finish off the Go-Cart he'd been working on.

Micky still felt embarrassed and insecure. He kicked himself for opening up to Mike when Mike gave him so little in return. Micky couldn't help wondering if he was setting himself up for a fall. He believed Mike cared about him, but how much? Micky wondered if Mike did feel sorry for him. Micky didn't want to be the victim of some sort of pity-party, Mike only humouring his feelings because he was afraid of what Micky would do if he knocked him back.

Micky had always been a little insecure about his masculinity. He masked it by making jokes about himself like he wasn't bothered, but deep down he was. Micky wondered if it was growing up around so many women that made him feel this way. He'd always been sensitive, and he'd always feel things deeply. He didn't particularly regard himself as cowardly or weak, but he feared other people would see him that way.

Micky had always seen Mike as a 'real man'. Mike seemed to be tough and strong and not give a shit about what anyone thought, and Micky admired that. That was one of the reasons why Micky looked up to Mike like he did. When Micky became aware of his romantic feelings for Mike, it made Micky feel even more insecure about his masculinity. Having feelings for another man hardly told Micky he was 'butch'.

And Micky pouring his heart out to this very same man, only to have Mike give him nothing in return, made Micky feel vulnerable, stupid and needy. Micky hoped that Mike didn't see him that way; he was scared he'd come on too strong and frightened Mike off.

_"Would I want to be with someone like me?"_ Micky wondered. _"Probably not."_


	17. Chapter 17

Micky and Mike slept in their own beds that night. Both of them had been tempted to go to the other, but they managed to resist. When Micky finally emerged the next day, he went downstairs to eat some breakfast (which was actually more like lunch), and then found Mike in the lounge. The Texan was on the phone to his mother.

"I don't know, ma. I'll try." Mike spoke into the phone as Micky walked in. "Well it ain't that easy. We've got some stuff going on - work stuff. I can't just drop it."

Micky sat on the arm of the couch, watching Mike on the phone. He frowned when Mike mentioned "work", seeing as they had nothing on for ages.

"Yeah, okay. I'll try." Mike continued down the phone. "Yeah, you too. Bye."

Mike hung up, turning to Micky. "It was just my mom."

"I figured." Micky smiled.

"She's buggin' me, wanting me to go see her soon." Mike sighed.

"Why did you tell her we have work?" Micky questioned. "We have nothing in the diary for weeks."

"I just don't really wanna go back to Texas at the moment." Mike replied.

"Because of me?" Micky wondered, feeling guilty.

"'Cause of everythin'." Mike looked at Micky, who was perched on the arm of the couch. They were both silent for a moment. "How are you?"

"Good. Better." Micky gave Mike a small smile. "I'm so sorry about yesterday. You must think I'm totally crazy."

"No more than usual." Mike joked with a smile.

Micky laughed, looking down.

"No, I don't think you're crazy." Mike assured him.

"Needy?" Micky looked up, cringing.

"Not even that." Mike's eyes were kind, and he put Micky's mind at ease. "You ain't got to be sorry for anythin'."

"I think we both need to be sorry. I give too much and you give too little. We can't seem to get the balance right."

"That's a fair point." Mike agreed.

The two of them were silent for a little while, but it wasn't awkward.

"Did you still wanna hang out today?" Mike wondered.

"Yeah, if you do." Micky sounded hopeful.

"I do." Mike smiled.

"Groovy." Micky smiled back. "Well... I've got some pot. I know you don't smoke much but I thought maybe it'd help us both relax. It's cool if you're not into it though."

Mike looked thoughtful. He didn't tend to smoke much weed anymore, but he felt pretty tempted. Micky looked at him curiously, wondering how Mike was going to respond to his suggestion.

"Ah, fuck it." Mike said, throwing caution the wind. "Let's smoke some pot."

* * *

A couple of hours later, Micky and Mike were in The Den, smoking some weed and listening to Sgt. Pepper's. Micky almost instantly noticed a change in Mike, and he enjoyed seeing the Texan let his hair down and visibly relax after seeing him so tense for so long. Micky couldn't even recall the last time he'd seen Mike properly enjoy himself.

"It doesn't matter how many times I listen to this record, it's still so fucking epic." Micky's eyes were wide in wonder.

"Can you believe we were there when they recorded some of this thing?" Mike gushed. "I just- I can't even believe that."

"Me neither. Like, people are going to be listening to this in like hundreds of years time." Micky's eyes were wide in wonder. "Maybe not hundreds of years, because there might not be record players then. I don't know...I don't know how it'll work. But maybe in like 50 years time or something, people will still be listening to The Beatles for sure."

"Definitely." Mike nodded in agreement, taking another drag from his joint. "Do you think people will still listen to us in 50 years time?"

"I hope so!" Micky said excitedly. "How groovy will that be? If people who aren't even born yet listen to us in years to come. I mean, I think the songs can stand the test of time. Whatever happens, I think you'll still be making music when you're old. Like, even if you're grey or bald I think you'll still be writing and playing and singing. I don't think you'll ever stop. And I think people will still totally dig it!"

Mike giggled. "I don't know about that."

"They will!" Micky gushed. "They totally will. Because you're, like, so talented. And that's not going to go away. If anything, you'll only get more groovy and more talented as you get older. Your talent will grow with you."

Mike smiled. "Yours will too, Mick."

"Nooo, it's not the same." Micky shook his head. "Your songs are so great. You're such a groovy song writer. I wish I could write like that."

"Micky, you write great songs too. Just 'cause you don't write as many as me don't mean you ain't a great writer." Mike assured him. "It ain't about quantity; it's about quality. So what if you ain't written as many as me? And anyway, your voice...man, _your voice_. Now _that_ is goin' to stand the test of time. People don't give a shit about who writes the songs, they only care about who sing 'em. And babe, you sure sing 'em. My songs wouldn't sound half as good if you weren't singin' 'em."

"I sing like a girl." Micky giggled, genuinely amused.

"You sing like a girl? What is- what is this "you sing like a girl" stuff?" Mike laughed a little too, but only because he found Micky totally stupid. Micky started giggling even more. "Sing like a girl... Oh Micky."

"I do though!" Micky was now in a fit of giggles. "My voice is all high and girly! Your voice is better, it's all deep and you've got that sexy Texan twang going on which I totally dig. And you have a great range, when you go all high it's like, "holy shit! Where did that come from?" and I think it's so groovy."

"You're funny." Mike giggled. ""Sing like a girl". That is so funny. I can't believe you think that. You got the prettiest voice I ever heard."

"See? _Pretty_ voice!" Micky fell back onto the rug laughing.

"Well- well pretty don't mean girly." Mike quickly tried to dig himself out of a hole, but he was still amused. "Men can be pretty too. Or have pretty voices. Your voice is perfect. I tell ya, boy, if I could only have one person sing my songs it'd be you."

Micky grinned from ear to ear, propping himself up on his elbows and looking at Mike. "I will sing your songs for you, babe. In my girly voice."

Mike leaned over, grabbing a cushion off the couch. He chucked it at Micky playfully. "Your voice ain't girly!" He laughed. "Say that one more time and I'll- and I'll-"

"And you'll what?" Micky sat up, jabbing Mike in the arm.

"And I'll pounce on you." Mike tried to be serious and sound warning, but he couldn't help but laugh.

"Well that'll just make me say it over and over." Micky grinned wider, and he started giggling some more.

Micky laid back on the rug, staring at the ceiling while chuckling quietly to himself.

Mike watched Micky, loving how adorable Micky looked when he was high and giggly. Mike suddenly felt himself 'come down' a little, feeling a bit more sober as he watched Micky try to contain his laughter. Micky had always been a giggler when high.

"It was your laugh." Mike said out of the blue, his face now looking more serious than before.

Micky looked up at Mike totally confused.

"That was when I first felt like this; when I first saw you laugh." Mike looked at Micky thoughtfully.

Micky stopped his giggles, propping himself up on his elbows again to look at Mike.

"The first time I saw you properly laugh, like you were laughin' right from your soul," Mike was reflective. "That's when I thought; "this boy is special." I just didn't know it at the time. It looks so obvious now... lookin' back, it's as clear as the nose on your face. But I didn't realise. I didn't know it were there until that night you passed out on the couch, the night before I first kissed ya. That was when I realised what I'd sorta known this whole time...that you're special. That there's somethin' about you that ain't like anyone else."

Micky was shocked that Mike was opening up, and like Mike, he suddenly started to feel rather sober.

"You tipped that cold water over Donnie... and even though that could've got you in so much shit, you still laughed. You still laughed like it was the last funny thing you'd ever do." Mike was smiling as he looked back. "You walk in a room, and everyone wants to talk to ya. You make so many people smile and you don't even know it. And everyone wants to know ya. You light up the room. You light up the stage. You light up- you light up _me_."

Mike looked down bashfully, blushing slightly. He was aware of what he was saying, and the weed had given him just enough confidence to say it.

Micky sat up properly, staring at Mike. Micky wore a small smile, pleased to finally know how Mike felt and that Mike had been able to say it.

"Don't- don't say bad things about your voice." Mike went on. "'Cause when I first heard you sing I thought I'd gone to heaven. I know that's a cheesy as hell thing to say, but I don't know how else to describe it. I knew we'd be successful and have hit records if you were singin' our songs. Who wouldn't wanna hear that voice?"

Mike was still looking down bashfully, but when he lifted his head he saw Micky beaming at him. Micky looked blissfully happy, and Mike blushed even more.

Micky crawled across the rug, closer to Mike. He sat down right in front of him and looked at Mike with wide eyes that seemed to just be radiating joy.

"See, was that so hard to say?" Micky asked softly.

"Not really..." Mike looked away bashfully once more, his heart fluttering. Mike felt alive, he felt liberated, he felt confident. He knew a large percentage of that was probably from the marijuana he'd been smoking, but right now he didn't care.

"You're gorgeous." Micky gushed, staring at Mike so hard Mike feared Micky might burn a hole through his head.

"Shut up." Mike laughed a little, his face burning up.

"Why are you embarrassed?" Micky questioned in Micky's special way, tilting his head to the side and looking at Mike curiously.

Mike managed to look at Micky. He shrugged his shoulders a little.

Micky smiled even more. "You'll hate me for saying this, but I don't care." He begun. "You're adorable."

"Shut up." Mike repeated. He felt like his face was on fire, and he could hardly stop the smile from taking over his lips.

"I want to kiss you so badly." Micky said seriously.

Mike looked Micky in the eye. "What's stoppin' ya?"

Micky grinned wickedly, a devilish smile spreading from ear to ear. "I sing like a girl."

Mike was surprised. "Wha- what? What are ya sayin' that again for?!"

"You said if I said that again you'd pounce on me." Micky smirked.

Mike caught on. He grabbed Micky by both the wrists and pounced on him, pushing him back onto the furry rug.

Mike shook his head in disbelief, laughing to himself as he looked down at Micky underneath him. "You're _bad_."

Micky's grin somehow grew wider, his eyes piercing and sure. "Do you remember the last time we were on the rug like this?"

Now it was Mike's turn to smirk. "How could I forget?"

The two of them smiled at each other for a short while, before Micky finally spoke again. "Are you gonna kiss me or what?"

"You're a bad influence on me, boy." Mike chuckled. "You're trouble."

Micky managed to lift his head so his face wasn't far from Mike's. "I think that's just the way you like me." He whispered.

Mike's smile grew warm and soft, and he quickly closed the gap between them, pushing his lips hard against Micky's.

The pair of them melted into a deep kiss as Mike unbuttoned Micky's shirt. They kissed for a long time, Micky's fingers tracing circles on the back of Mike's neck, causing the Texan to shiver. Mike planted tiny kisses on Micky's naked chest, moving down and kissing Micky's stomach. Micky smiled, looking down at Mike, his fingers losing themselves in Mike's thick dark hair.

"I should make you smoke pot more often." Micky beamed.

Mike's kisses worked their way back up until he met Micky's face. "Let's go upstairs."

"We're okay here, it's not like we haven't done stuff down here before." Micky stroked Mike's face.

"I know, but...I don't like it." Mike looked a little uncomfortable.

"Nobody's gonna catch us, babe." Micky reassured him. "But we can go upstairs if that'll make you feel better."

Mike nodded, climbing to his feet. He bent down, offering a hand to Micky.

Mike pulled Micky to his feet, and Micky instantly grabbed hold of Mike's hips, pulling him closer. "I've had fun this afternoon."

"Me too." Mike wrapped his arms around Micky's neck.

"It's so nice to see you smile and laugh and have a good time." Micky brushed Mike's hair out of his face. "You don't seem to do that much anymore; I've missed it. I like seeing you happy."

Mike gave Micky a small, almost shy smile.

Micky took hold of Mike's hand. "Let's go upstairs."

The two of them headed upstairs to Micky's bedroom. It wasn't long before they had rid themselves of their clothes and fell back into a world of kisses. Micky had been on top of Mike before rotating himself around, turning himself upside down so he could go down on Mike. Mike had never particularly been into "69ing", but the weed in his system gave him a little more confidence and rid him of his inhibitions, allowing himself to enjoy this moment with Micky.

So they sucked each other off, mimicking each other's movements and tricks. Whenever Micky did something new with his tongue or his mouth, Mike repeated it - and vice versa. It didn't take long at all until they both peaked; Mike first, with Micky following shortly after. Micky rolled off of Mike so they were lying head-to-toe on the bed. They laid like this for a short time while trying to re-catch their breath, before Micky turned himself up the right way again, crawling up the bed and lying on his stomach next to Mike.

Mike was looking at the ceiling, and it was as if he'd drifted off into his own little world. Micky watched him, propping himself up on his elbows as he laid on his tummy. He smiled at Mike.

"Earth to Michael." Micky cooed softly.

Mike turned to look at Micky.

Micky looked at Mike curiously. "What ya thinking?"

"The weed has worn off." Mike replied, his eyes suddenly looking sleepy.

"Sex does that. I think you sort of sweat it out." Micky smiled.

Mike smiled up at the curly-haired man, his eyes droopy.

"It was great again though." Micky run his fingers through Mike's hair.

Mike nodded his head lazily. "Yep."

Micky smiled some more. "Thank you for talking to me. I've had a really great afternoon."

"Me too." Mike agreed. He looked as if he was struggling to keep his eyes open.

"I hope you don't regret opening up to me. I also hope I don't have to get you stoned every time I want you to talk." Micky sounded a little unsure.

Mike simply yawned.

Micky rolled over onto his back. Mike cuddled up to Micky, resting his head on Micky's chest and closing his eyes.

Micky managed to pull the covers up over them, wrapping his arms around Mike. Micky started to draw patterns on Mike's bare-back.

"It was so nice seeing you smile today." Micky said thoughtfully. "You're so fun to be around when you're like that. It's been ages since I've really seen you happy... We used to have such a laugh together. I want you to be like that again."

"I had fun." Mike mumbled sleepily into Micky's chest.

Micky lifted his head to look down at Mike, and he smiled warmly at the Texan.

They were silent for a little while until Micky spoke again.

"I think it's time you were happy again. I think it's time you stopped beating yourself up for what happened in your marriage." Micky continued to draw patterns on Mike's back. "Everyone makes mistakes. You deserve to be happy."

Mike didn't respond.

Micky looked at the ceiling thoughtfully. The two of them laid there in silence, Mike dozing contently on Micky's chest.

"You're so sleepy." Micky stated as he looked down at Mike. Micky thought Mike looked so adorable.

"Mmm." Mike agreed lazily. "I ain't got the stamina you have."

Micky smiled. "It won't be long until you learn how to keep up with me."

Mike snuggled closer to Micky, sighing contently.

It all went quiet for a few moments.

"We're getting really good at doing what we just did." Micky said, referring to the blow jobs they had just given each other. "It's funny how good you can get at something when you're determined enough. I hope you don't find it weird me saying that, because it's true. That was pretty epic."

"Mhm." Mike responded. He did feel a little uncomfortable with Micky saying that, but he didn't have the energy to protest. At the end of the day, it was true.

Again, silence filled the room; a pleasant, peaceful silence. Mike found himself begin to doze off.

"This is so comfy." Micky said out of the blue, snapping Mike out of his daze. "I've never thought about what it'd be like to hold a man, but thinking about it, it seems like it should be uncomfortable. Like, we're long and bony. Girls have got boobs which are squishy like pillows. We don't have that. But this is really, really comfy. I could lay like this forever."

Mike lifted his head. His eyes were so heavy and he stared at Micky with an amused look on his face.

"Are you ever quiet?" Mike questioned.

"Sorry." Micky looked a little sheepish. "I'm just happy and I get excited so I talk a lot."

Mike gave Micky a knowing look, a half-smile on his face and his eyes looking amused. He leaned forward and kissed Micky on the tip of his nose. "Shut up." He said in a sleepy, mock-stern voice.

Mike rested his head again, causing Micky grin.

"You know, you always moan at me for staying in bed all morning, but you're more than happy to laze around in the afternoon." Micky joked, turning his head to look at the clock. "It's four in the afternoon. You're so lazy."

Mike lifted his head once more, looking at Micky in disbelief and wondering how on earth he had the energy to keep talking. "You're right." Mike rubbed his eyes. "We should get up."

"No, no!" Micky squeezed his arms around Mike tighter, unaware that Mike was only teasing him. "No, that's not why I said it. I was only messing around. Please stay."

Mike chuckled quietly, lying back down. "Shut up then."

"Sorry." Micky cuddled Mike. "Let's lay here a bit longer, for a couple of hours or something. Then we can have some dinner and go to bed again."

Mike looked up at Micky. "You'd stay in here all day every day if you could, wouldn't you?"

"Only if you're with me. I'll get bored otherwise." Micky grinned. "Now shh, you need some sleep."

Mike laid back down, shaking his head. "You're as mad as a hatter, boy."

Micky smiled, kissing the top of Mike's head. "You wouldn't have me any other way."


	18. Chapter 18

The following day, Mike was up and about long before Micky. When Micky finally emerged from his bed, he came downstairs to find Mike sat in his usual spot in the kitchen reading the paper.

"Morning." Micky smiled as he walked in.

"Don't you mean 'afternoon'?" Mike gave Micky a look.

Micky looked at his watch. "Nu-uh, it's still morning. Look!" Micky held his wrist to Mike's face so Mike could see the time; it was 11:58.

Mike shook his head. "Lazy."

Micky grinned, and he kissed the side of Mike's head before getting a bowel from the cupboard. "Have you had breakfast?"

"I was actually thinkin' of soon getting lunch."

Micky tutted, pouring himself some Cornflakes. "What are you doing today?"

"I was actually gonna ask you the same question." Mike watched as Micky poured some milk on his cereal.

"Well my buddy is throwing a party tonight and he wanted some of us to head over early to help set things up." Micky replied.

"So you won't be back til late?" Mike questioned.

Micky sat opposite Mike at the table. "Unless you have other plans for us today. I can cancel mine, or you can come with me."

"No, no. That works quite well actually," Mike begun. "I just got off the phone to Phyllis. She said I could have the boys from later on today. She said I could have 'em til tomorrow evening."

"Oh groovy!" Micky said excitedly. "Well I'll cancel my stuff, and we can all hang out together. I can give Christian the Go-Cart I made! I finished it up the other day, it's totally groovy."

Mike's face dropped slightly. "No, don't be silly, babe. You go to your party."

"I can still go tonight, but this afternoon I can give Christian the Go-Cart." Micky took a mouthful of Cornflakes.

Mike scratched his face, feeling a little uneasy. "It's fine, don't cancel your plans."

Micky looked up at Mike. "The Go-Cart is safe, you know. We can go try it out now if you like. I wouldn't give it to him if it wasn't safe for him to ride."

Mike felt guilty. "I know you wouldn't. I'm sure the Go-Cart is just fine, Mick."

"Then what's the matter?" Micky rammed another spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

"Nothin'." Mike was a little defensive.

"Your kids love me, they always think I'm fun. The last time I saw them, Christian called me 'cool uncle Micky' and compared me to Mickey Mouse. I thought that was so groovy. I haven't hung-out with him in ages." Micky looked at Mike expectantly.

"You got your plans, babe." Mike looked down at the newspaper, unable to look at Micky.

Micky sighed. "Well tomorrow then. If you've got them all day, we can play with the Go-Cart tomorrow."

"I was gonna take 'em out tomorrow." Mike didn't make eye-contact with the curly-haired man.

Micky frowned, sensing something was up. "You won't have them out all day though, will you?"

Mike was starting to get irritated. "I'm sure you'll have your own stuff on. It's your birthday in a week, you- you got things to organise for your party."

Micky put his spoon down. "You don't want the kids around me, do you?"

Mike forced a laugh. "Don't be stupid."

"Then why don't you want them here with me?"

"I- I never said that." Mike started to feel nervous.

Micky stared at Mike hard. "You asked what my plans were today. You said it worked well that I was going to be out. Why would my plans affect whether you have the kids or not?"

"I just think you got better things to do than be around a 4 year-old and a baby."

"That's crap. I told you I liked spending time with them. You never had a problem with it before."

Mike continued to stare at his paper, unable to look at Micky.

"Do you think I'm going to do something around them, is that it? Something to you?" Micky questioned, and Mike looked up. "You think I'm going to kiss you or touch you or say something to you I shouldn't? Say something about _us_?"

Mike looked down again.

"Jesus Christ, Mike." Micky sounded seriously annoyed. "What do you take me for?"

"I ain't- I ain't sayin' you're gonna do that." Mike tried to defend himself.

"Do you think I'm going to pounce on you?" Micky looked offended. "Be all like, "Hey kids! Look what Daddy and Uncle Micky do when you're not around!""

Mike glared at Micky.

"God, you can be such a dick." Micky humphed. He picked up his spoon again and started prodding at his Cornflakes aggressively.

Mike sighed. "I'm sorry, Mick. I don't- I don't think that. Not really. I mean, I don't think you'd do anything on purpose."

"Great." Micky said sarcastically.

"I just- I know what you're like. It'd feel weird. You- it's like you wanna play happy families or somethin'."

"They're your _kids_. I'd never do anything to confuse them or mess with their heads." Micky looked quite hurt. "I do a good enough job fucking with your head without screwing up your kids as well."

"Don't say that." Mike tilted his head to the side, giving Micky an apologetic look.

"Whatever. I'll stay out of their way. We can't have crazy big-mouth-Micky corrupting small children." Micky sounded hurt, but his words were tinged with bitterness.

"Why can't you understand I just don't feel comfortable with this?" Mike questioned.

"I get it." Micky still sounded annoyed. "It's Mike's way or the highway."

"Not everythin' is about you, Micky." Mike snapped. "You nag at me to talk to ya, but when I say things you don't wanna hear you throw a tantrum. You can't have it all ways, Mick."

Micky pushed his chair back and started walking out of the room.

Mike rolled his eyes. "Mick-_y_," He called after him. "Don't walk off."

Micky paused, turning around to face Mike.

"So what, you never want me to see your kids?" Micky questioned.

"Please don't take this so personally." Mike stood up. "You need to realise this ain't about you."

"Then what is it about?" Micky questioned.

Mike looked at Micky blankly. "Me. It's about me."

Micky raised his eyebrows, trying to prompt Mike to elaborate. But Mike was giving nothing away.

"Right. Well I can see where you're at." Micky turned and walked out again, angry that Mike wasn't opening up to him yet again.

Mike sighed. Micky was hard work; but Mike knew he himself was hard work, too. The truth was, Mike was afraid. Mike was afraid of the four of them playing together and spending time together as if everything was perfectly normal. Mike _was_ concerned Micky would slip up. He knew Micky wouldn't do anything stupid like kiss him in front of the children, but Mike wasn't quite sure exactly _what_ he was fearful Micky would do.

Most of all, Mike didn't like the thought of his children getting too attached to Micky. And likewise, Mike didn't want Micky to get too attached to his kids. He knew what Micky was like; he could get carried away, he could go over-the-top, and he was a dreamer. Mike feared that in Micky's head he'd painted a perfect picture of them all getting along swimmingly and every weekend would be the four of them playing happy families. But how long would that last? How long _could_ that last?

Mike had had a lovely day with Micky the day before. He felt happy and relaxed. The weed had helped, but that wasn't the point. The whole afternoon and evening had been the best Mike could remember. It was really as if they had been in their own little bubble. But Mike feared the moment his children set foot through the door, the bubble would burst. Mike wanted to spend time with his sons, and he wanted to spend time with Micky. But Mike viewed Micky as a separate world to everything else, and he couldn't have those two worlds collide. It would be too real, and it would be too dangerous.

* * *

That night, Mike was sitting in front of the TV. It was about 11pm, and the kids had long been in bed. Mike didn't see Micky before he went off to his friend's place that afternoon and he could only hope that Micky wouldn't arrive home in a sorry state.

Mike wasn't expecting to see Micky again that day, but he was surprised when he heard Micky enter the house. Mike turned the TV off and rose to his feet, expecting to find Micky absolutely raging drunk. He was even more surprised when Micky walked in looking sober.

"What are you doin' back?" Mike questioned.

Micky shrugged. "I wasn't in the partying mood. I figured the kids would be asleep so now would be a safe time to come home."

"Don't say it like that." Mike was a little put out. "It ain't like I don't want you to see 'em at all."

"Whatever, I get it. It's fine." Micky shifted awkwardly on his feet.

"It don't sound fine. I just need you to understand, Mick." Mike pressed.

"Understand what? You didn't really give me anything to understand." Micky still seemed annoyed.

Mike rubbed his head. "I can't explain it. I don't know how to explain it."

"I'd never do anything to hurt those kids, you know." Micky assured him.

"What- Micky, of course I know that." Mike sighed. "I told ya, it ain't about you. It'd just feel strange, that's all, if we were all together. I dunno. I can't- I can't explain it. You don't have kids, I don't see how you could understand."

Micky's expression softened. "I know. I know I don't have kids. I shouldn't even pretend to know what it's like."

"It's just hard for me." Mike confessed, looking at the carpet. "It'd be like two worlds colliding. And I know that's dumb 'cause you've been around 'em loads of times and they love ya, but- but it's different now. _Everything _is different now."

Micky nodded his head slowly. "I know... I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too." Mike watched Micky carefully to ensure he was okay.

"I'm going to see my Mom and little sisters tomorrow. I'm spending the whole day with them, so I'll be out of your way then."

Mike sighed. "You say it like I don't want you around."

Micky simply looked back at Mike.

Mike stepped a little closer to Micky, though they were still far apart. "It ain't that way at all."

Micky gave Mike a small smile as he could tell Mike was highly uncomfortable. "It's okay, you don't have to worry. I understand...or at least I think I do. I'm trying to, anyway."

Mike still watched Micky, making sure he was okay.

"Can I kiss you?" Micky asked.

Mike's heart sunk.

"Sorry." Micky said quickly. "Sorry, I know. Not when the kids are in the house. It's alright."

"Sorry." Mike whispered.

"Can I give you a hug?" Micky didn't look hopeful.

Mike shook his head and looked at Micky with eyes full of regret. "If Christian came down-"

"You don't have to explain." Micky smiled a reassuring smile. "It's alright. I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'm sorry, Mick." Mike felt horribly guilty.

"Don't be sorry." Micky continued to smile at Mike. "Have fun tomorrow. Night."

"Night, Mick..." Mike replied in little more than a whisper, and he watched as Micky left the room.

Mike sighed, suddenly being reminded that there was always going to be something getting in their way. It would never be simple or straight-forward, and knowing that he couldn't give Micky what he wanted hurt Mike. Mike wanted to give Micky the world, but he couldn't even give him a hug.

* * *

The following morning, Mike was woken up bright and early by his sons. It was only around 7am when Mike and the boys headed down for breakfast. Christian, Mike's eldest son, ran off ahead while Mike carried Jonathon down the stairs.

"Oh wow!" Mike heard Christian excitedly exclaim as he entered the kitchen.

Mike followed the young boy into the room and stopped in his tracks when he saw exactly what had caught Christian's attention; a bright red Go-Cart.

Micky's kitchen was large, and it had two huge glass doors that overlooked the garden. Parked just inside of those doors, waiting to go back outside, was the Go-Cart Micky had made.

Mike approached the Go-Cart, which Christian was now sitting on excitedly, and he noticed a note stuck to the front that simply read; _Have fun_.

"Can we play, dad? Can we play?" Christian tugged at the leg of Mike's pants.

Mike was a little taken aback. "Just a second, pal. I'll be back in a minute."

Mike then walked to the front room and peered out of the window, and he noticed Micky's car wasn't in thr driveway. Mike looked at his watch once more; it was only 7:30. Micky wasn't usually up for another 3 hours at the very least, and Mike was both saddened and touched that Micky had left the house so early in order to avoid seeing the boys. "_Just like you wanted_." A voice reminded Mike.

* * *

Mike had a great day with his boys. He found it nice being at home with them, with no one else around. No distractions apart from one bright red Go-Cart that both the boys adored. Mike was exhausted by the time he dropped the boy's home, but he was eager to see Micky. It was early evening by the time Micky arrived home from visiting his family.

As soon as Micky walked in, Mike walked straight up to him. Micky was a little surprised seeing Mike stride towards him, a look of purpose on the Texan's face. Mike immediate went up to Micky, placed his hand on the back of Micky's head, and pulled the curly-head forward into a deep kiss.

Micky was left a little shocked and breathless when Mike broke the kiss. Micky's eyes were wide and he blinked, re-catching his breath. "What was that for?"

"You know what." Mike replied seriously, staring straight into Micky's eyes. "You didn't have to leave so early today. I didn't mean you couldn't see 'em at all."

"I know you didn't. I couldn't sleep so I thought I might as well get up. I drove around for a while and then went to Mom's for breakfast. It was actually nice to see that part of the day for a change." Micky smiled.

Mike's face still looked deadly serious. "I don't deserve you."

Micky's face fell. "What are you talking about?"

"I don't deserve you." Mike looked almost _too_ serious, and it rattled Micky.

"Don't be stupid." Micky frowned. "Of course you do."

"You're too good for me." Mike's eyes looked incredibly sad.

"Wha- that's just silly." Micky tilted his head to the side, giving Mike a reassuring look. "Don't say that."

Mike hung his head. "The boys loved the Go-Cart..."

"Did they?" Micky's face lit up.

"I told 'em you made it. I said next time they come over, you'll play with them too." Mike looked up.

"You didn't have to say that." Micky's face fell slightly. "If you're not happy with it, then it's fine. Seriously, babe. I've been thinking about it loads, and I totally get it. I know it's nothing personal against me."

"It ain't." Mike assured him. "Trust me, this ain't about you at all. Only it is. Everything's about you. I'm sorry, Micky."

"Stop being sorry." Micky said gently, smiling at Mike. He put his hand to Mike's face. "Please don't be sorry. I know this is hard for you. It's hard for me too."

"I don't want it to be hard for you; I want it to be easy. But this is never gonna be easy." Mike's voice was dripping with sadness.

"Stop." Micky said sternly. "I've told you a million times, I don't care."

"Are you sure?" Mike really sounded like he needed reassurance. Micky was shocked by Mike's show of insecurity, as normally he was so focussed and sure.

Micky wrapped his arms around Mike. "I can prove it if you like."

The edges of Mike's mouth turned upwards slightly. "How?"

Micky beamed at Mike. "It depends. How would you like me to prove it?"

The smile teasing Mike's mouth threatened to take over his entire face. "I don't know... I can think of a few things."

Micky stroked the side of Mike's face once more before leaning into a soft kiss. He pulled away, rubbing the tip of his nose against Mike's. "Let's go to bed."

Mike made love to Micky for the second time, both of them getting into it quicker than they had done the time before. It had still been painful for Micky at first, but he found himself relaxing sooner this time, and the two of them felt more assured and confident with what they were doing.

Once they'd finished, they cleaned themselves up, and Micky was now lying with his face buried in the crook of Mike's neck. Their legs were entwined, and Mike's arms held on to Micky tightly, his hand lost in Micky's mass of curly brown hair. They'd been lying peacefully for several minutes before Mike spoke.

"Are you okay?" Mike asked quietly through the darkness.

Micky nodded his head. "Mmm."

"You ain't hurt?" Mike wondered.

"No. Or if I am, I can't feel it." Micky planted a small kiss on Mike's neck. "I feel amazing."

Mike was satisfied with that answer, and he held Micky a little tighter.

Micky found Mike's free hand, and he laced his fingers with Mike's. He watched Mike's hand, playing with his fingers. Micky was thoughtful.

"When we're together like this, it feels like we're the only two people in the world." Micky spoke quietly, and he then lifted his head a little so he could look at Mike's face. "Do you feel like that?"

"Somethin' like that." Mike replied.

Micky laid his head back down and continued playing with Mike's fingers. Micky was feeling them as if he was trying to learn them. It was as if he wanted to know every tiny detail of Mike's body.

Mike laid there, watching Micky as he studied Mike's hands intently. Mike wondered what was going through Micky's head.

"Did you have a good time today? With your family?" Mike asked after a few minutes silence.

"Yeah... it was really nice. I haven't spent a whole day with them in ages. I had a really good time, apart from Mom nagging me about how I don't have a girlfriend. She thinks now I'm nearly 24 I should think about settling down or something. She's still mad at me for breaking up with Samantha. I think she thought that was gonna be the real-deal."

Mike was silent, gently fingering Micky's curls.

"I couldn't help but wonder what it'd be like if she knew about this... what she'd think of me." Micky spoke softly and sounded thoughtful.

"There ain't no point thinkin' like that." Mike said a little regretfully.

"It's human nature though, to be curious." Micky replied, staring at Mike's hand. "It's only natural to wonder what it'd be like if things were different."

"But they ain't ever gonna be different." Mike responded matter-of-factly. "Nothing's ever gonna change."

Micky saddened slightly. "I know... Well, I don't know, really. Times are changing, things are happening. I mean, it's not illegal anymore, to do what we do. One day things might be totally different."

Mike tensed up a little. He understood where Micky was coming from, but he truly believed there was no point thinking that way. "Not for us, Mick."

"No, I know." Micky agreed sadly.

"This is the way it is." Mike said in a soft but firm tone. "Can you handle that?"

Micky lifted his head once more. "You know I can, I told you I could. It's fine... I just wonder, that's all. It's no big deal."

Mike wasn't particularly convinced by Micky's reassurance.

Micky's mind drifted. "It's quite exciting, if you think about it. I mean, we have this secret no one else can know. The sneaking around...I think it'll be kinda fun. It's like the forbidden fruit. The more you know you can't have it, the more desperate you are to taste it. And I like to taste you."

Micky smiled at Mike, but Mike continued to wear a serious expression. While Mike knew Micky was probably being honest about enjoying having a little secret for now, he was still convinced it wouldn't be long before Micky became unhappy with it.


	19. Chapter 19

It was now Tuesday evening, and both Micky and Mike were at home after a busy couple of days. Mike had booked some studio time and been recording with a couple of his musician friends, and Micky had been at a car convention.

Micky and Mike were hanging out in the lounge, and they'd had a couple of drinks.

"So you're sure you're cool with not having the kids Saturday night?" Micky questioned Mike.

"I told ya, it's fine. I'll take 'em out Saturday while you get things ready for the party. It ain't no problem." Mike assured Micky.

"Good. 'Cause I don't want you to feel like they're not welcome here or anything." Micky gave Mike a look.

Mike laughed. "I don't think that, Mick. To be honest I'm just glad I can see 'em at all."

"Well so you should see them; they're your kids, and you're a great dad."

Mike looked at Micky. "I don't feel like it sometimes."

"Sure you are. I know just from the way you talk about them." Micky smiled.

"They're growin' up so fast." Mike looked reflective. "There's so much I'm missin' out on, so much I've _always_ missed out on. It's weird, 'cause in a way I see them more now than I did when I was still with their mom and we were workin' so hard."

"It's never too late to make up for lost time." Micky glanced at Mike tentatively. "And I don't just mean with Christian and Jonathon..."

Mike looked at Micky, catching on. Mike didn't look impressed. "Not this again."

"You have _three_ kids, Mike. Three sons." Micky begun, and Mike looked to the ceiling in annoyance. "I told you before, this isn't just going to go away."

"And I told you before that I ain't talking about this with you." Mike said sternly.

"Well who are you going to talk about it with?" Micky questioned. "No one, that's who."

Mike looked away, annoyed.

"This is something you need to deal with, babe. You can't just sweep it under the carpet."

"I _am_ dealin' with it." Mike hit back. "They're being taken care of. I opened an account in the boy's name that Nurit can access whenever she needs to. So they're being looked after."

"Since when?" Micky questioned.

"Since day one."

"You never told me that."

"It's 'cause it ain't any of your business, that's why." Mike said bluntly.

"Right, and that's it, is it? You think that's all it takes?" Micky wondered.

Mike stood up. "I'm done with this conversation."

"For god's sake Mike, I'm trying to help." Now Micky sounded irritated.

"And you think this is helping me?" Mike stared down at Micky.

Micky stood up, and Mike looked away. "If anything, you should be grateful that something positive came out of the entire mess you made. You fucked up, but at least something good came out of it; a new life. A little boy who hasn't actually done anything wrong."

Mike looked back at Micky in disbelief. "You live in fairyland, boy. You try and make everything sound romantic and pretty but it ain't."

Micky rolled his eyes. "You call me dramatic, but you're the dramatic one. Why don't you quit running away from your problems and face them for once?"

"And why don't you quit nagging me?!" Mike snapped. "God Micky, you go on and on."

"Because I care! I go on and on because I care." Micky stressed. "You're making a stupid mistake and I want you to be happy."

"Who are you to tell me if I'm making a mistake or not?" Mike swiped. "I don't need you pointin' out where I'm going wrong and what I should be doing right!"

"I'm telling you because you've been miserable for months!" Micky raised his voice. "You have a chance to put things right, to make amends for all the hurt you caused, and you can't be bothered to face it! Why are you being such a fucking coward?"

"Why are _you_ being such a fucking nag?!" Mike shouted. "Why can't you learn to damn well listen to me?"

"I want to help you!" Micky looked desperate.

"I don't need you to help, I need you to shut up!" Mike yelled. "If it ain't one thing, it's another. You just go on and on and on all the goddamn time!"

"And what about you? You bury your head in the sand! You can't admit what's really going on in your head so you pretend it's not happening at all. Just like you did with me, you tried to ignore what's happening with us as well."

"Well there was a fat chance of that happening with you goin' on at me all the time!"

"Oh great, so I nagged you into being with me, is that it?"

"I didn't say that." Mike looked seriously frustrated.

"It's what you meant though, isn't it?" Micky questioned. "If I'd have just crawled away your life would be so much easier, wouldn't it?"

Mike put his hands to his head. "I'm done with this." He then turned to walk out.

"Of course you are! God forbid you actually want to talk about anything!" Micky shouted.

Mike strode up to Micky, glaring at the younger man. "I _have_ talked, and I've told you to_ shut up_."

"Why won't you let me help you? We could deal with this together." Micky said sadly.

Mike laughed sarcastically. "I've got enough crap going on in my life without dealing with anything else!"

"So I'm crap now, am I?" Micky looked hurt.

Mike grabbed his head again, almost tearing his hair out. "Don't push me, Micky! I will talk when I want to talk. Stop trying to pressure me all the goddamn time!"

"I'm not trying to pressure you! Why is it so hard to understand that I fucking- that I _care_ about you. I've seen you battle with this crap for months and I've hated seeing you miserable!"

"Then stop pushing me!" Mike shouted.

"I just want you to be happy." Micky pleaded.

"Then you should've thought about that befo-"

Mike stopped himself from saying what he was going to say, because he didn't mean it.

"What were you going to say?" Micky stared at Mike.

Mike closed his eyes, sighing in an almost defeated fashion.

"I should've thought about that before..? Before what, Mike?" Micky pressed.

"Nothing." Mike muttered, hanging his head.

"No, tell me what you were going to say." Micky snapped.

Mike remained silent.

"I should've thought about that before...? Before I let you kiss me? Huh? Before I told you how I feel? Before I auditioned for our goddamn band?!"

Mike didn't say anything.

"Because you were so happy before I came along, weren't you?!" Micky shouted. "Your life was so much easier!"

"Well it was!" Mike blurted out. "It was for both of us!"

"So I'm just a fucking thorn in your side, is that it? I bullied and pressured you into bed with me, into admitting you have feelings for me, just so I could screw up your life even more!" Micky was furious. "You know it's funny, because I didn't hear you complaining when I was sucking your dick or you were fucking me! You didn't look so unhappy then!"

"Godamn it, Micky!" Mike shouted, throwing his arms in the air. "You make out everything is so simple!"

"_None_ of this is simple!" Micky shouted, his voice strained. Mike had never heard Micky shout so loud in his life. "I have picked the most screwed up person on earth that I could have fallen for, but guess what?! I'm still standing! I'm still alive! I've not spontaneously combusted just because I faced this shit!"

"Well good for you!" Mike yelled. "You want a fucking medal because you don't think things through? Because you're so stupid you think everything is going to work out just fine and dandy just because you _want_ it to? Your head is in the goddamn clouds and it has been since day one!"

"My head was in the clouds thinking you ever gave a shit about me, when clearly you think I'm some stupid little boy who doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut!"

"I do care about you, Micky! And when I tried to walk away from us I was doing it for you, you stupid boy!" Mike yelled. "What the hell is the matter with you? Why is nothin' is ever enough?!"

"Because you shut me out, you fucking lie to me all the time! You always say you're okay, but you're not! You drive me crazy!" Micky looked absolutely livid.

"_I_ drive_ you_ crazy?!" Mike was incredulous. "You've got to be kidding me! You _never_ shut up, you make me want to slam my head into a goddamn wall!"

Micky stormed over to the bar. He picked up a bottle of vodka that was sitting on the top of it, opened it, and started necking it.

Mike watched in disbelief as Micky gulped down the vodka straight, his pretty face screwed up as he battled past the horrible taste.

Mike rushed over to Micky, snatching the bottle from him.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Mike shouted.

"Fuck you, I'll do what I want, just like you do." Micky snatched the bottle back. His hands were shaking

"Because that's your answer to everythin', getting yourself drunk." Mike was furious

"Don't judge me! You have no right to judge me!" Micky looked upset as well as angry. "I don't know why you think this is easy for me when it's not! Does it look like this is fucking easy for me?"

Mike buried his face in his hands.

"I can't stand you sometimes!" Micky shouted, vodka in hand. "Your head is fucked and you're trying to fuck up mine too! Well congratulations, it's worked a treat!"

"Micky, don't." Mike looked up, his eyes almost pleading.

"You think I'm fucking- I'm fucking stupid. I'm just here to mess everything up for you." Micky looked unhinged, and his voice was shaking. "Well you're right, it _was_ easier before any of this happened. But remember this, Mike, _you kissed me_ first. This whole fucking mess is your fault! You brought all of this on yourself, so give yourself a big fat pat on the back you fucking asshole!"

Mike grabbed hold of Micky's arms, and he wanted to shake him. "You got under my skin! You've _always_ got under my skin!"

Micky shoved Mike back and threw the bottle of vodka against the bar, and it shattered on the floor. Mike was shocked by Micky's violent display, and he hated that he'd made Micky so angry; he'd never seen him like this before.

Micky stormed out of the room, and Mike hurried after him. Mike was horrified when he saw Micky pick up his car keys.

"Micky, don't you dare. You've been drinking." Mike said desperately.

Micky ignored Mike, and he hurried out of the front door.

"Micky, don't!" Mike shouted after him as Micky unlocked his car and climbed inside.

Mike rushed up to the car and banged on the window. "Don't, Micky."

Micky started the engine and sped away, leaving Mike in the driveway with his head in his hands.

Mike knew that even though Micky had a soft and loving nature, he could be fiery. Micky had a temper locked away deep down, it just very rarely reared it's ugly head. Mike despised himself for bringing out the worst in Micky, and for all the times Mike had seen Micky angry or annoyed, he'd never seen him like _that_ before.

Mike knew there was pent-up tension between them. None of this was easy, and Mike knew it wasn't easy for Micky either, despite what he said. Micky had his issues, and having a secret fling with a married man was hardly ideal for anyone, least of all someone as open, honest and sensitive as Micky.

* * *

Mike was beside himself with worry all night. It was gone 3 in the morning, and Micky still wasn't home. Mike paced the room back and forth, and he couldn't even think of trying to sleep not knowing where Micky was or if he was okay.

Mike finally slumped down on the couch, his head a total mess. He was exhausted both physically and mentally, and he found himself drifting off to sleep. Within moments however, he was woken by the sound of someone entering the house.

Mike literally leapt off the couch, rushing into the large hallway to find Micky locking the door behind him. Mike stormed up to Micky, grabbing him by the front of the shirt and pinning him against the front door.

"Don't you _ever_ do that to me again!" Mike shouted. "Where the hell were you? You'd been drinking, I thought you'd had an accident or something!"

"Sorry to disappoint you." Micky stared at the floor, his voice slow and miserable.

Mike looked at Micky's face; his eyes were red and watery. He looked drunk, and he look unhappy. He looked _desperately_ unhappy.

"Don't say things like that. I've been going out of my mind!"

Micky stared at the floor. "You'd be better off if I wasn't around." He whispered.

"I told you, don't talk like that." Mike ordered, disgusted by Micky's words. "Don't ever say things like that. I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you."

"Sorry..." Micky whispered, still not looking at Mike.

Mike released Micky from his grasp. He turned around and run his fingers through his hair.

"Where were you?" Mike questioned.

"Drinking. Getting drunk." Micky replied miserably. "My car is in a parking lot... I walked home."

"Micky..." Mike said almost to himself, feeling utterly stressed out. He put his hands to the back of his head.

"I'm bad for you." Micky's eyes were fixed on the floor.

"No you ain't. Will you quit talking like that?"

"I should've left you alone." Micky's voice was strained, and his face was downturned. Mike thought Micky looked horribly sad, and it pained Mike to see him like that.

"No." Mike choked out, shaking his head. "I'm sorry."

Micky just stood there. Mike sat on the stairs, putting his face in his hands.

"I hate what I do to you." Mike mumbled into his hands. "I don't mean to. I don't want to, but you just- you push me so hard. I don't know how to handle it."

"I want you to be happy, and I don't think I make you happy." Micky looked up, staring at Mike.

Mike pulled his face out of his hands, looking up at Micky. He stood quickly, walking over to the younger man.

"You do though." Mike assured him. "You _do_, Mick."

"I'm sorry." Micky said in barely a whisper.

Mike rushed to him, wrapping his arms around Micky and squeezing him tight. Micky's arms hung limp at his sides before he hesitantly wrapped them around Mike.

Mike pulled back, putting his hand to Micky's face. Mike kissed Micky on the lips once, twice, three times. Quick little kisses, stroking Micky's face with his thumb as he did so.

"Don't ever take off in the car when you've been drinking." Mike warned. "I swear to god, Micky."

"Sorry." Micky whispered again, looking down.

"Stupid boy." Mike stroked Micky's face. "You scared me."

"You wouldn't have me nagging anymore if I wasn't around." Micky's voice was dripping with misery.

"Stop it." Mike ordered. "Don't. You're drunk and you don't know what you're saying, but I hear what you're saying and it hurts. So please stop."

Micky looked to the floor.

"Look at me." Mike pulled Micky's face up. Micky looked into Mike's eyes, and Mike pulled Micky into a hug again. "Stupid boy... My stupid boy..."

Micky buried his face in the crook of Mike's neck, fisting the back of Mike's shirt. They stayed like this for a little while, holding each other, before Micky pulled back.

"I'm tired..." Micky mumbled, rubbing his head.

"Me too." Mike brushed Micky's hair out of his face. "You go up. I'm gonna get you some water."

Micky nodded his head slowly, and Mike kissed Micky once more. Micky turned and headed up the stairs, and Mike watched him carefully. Although Micky was drunk, he was far from out of it, and although his steps were sluggish he managed to climb the stairs with relative ease.

Mike went to the kitchen to fetch Micky some water. He leaned over the counter, realising how sick he felt. He felt sick with worry and guilt, noting that he'd never seen Micky truly miserable until they had gotten together. Mike resented even more that Micky seemed to think that _he_ was the problem instead of Mike. He knew Micky was drunk and was talking silly, but it still hurt Mike to hear Micky speak so negatively about himself.


	20. Chapter 20

The following morning, Micky woke up to find Mike standing looking out of the window. Micky sat himself up, rubbing his eyes, and he watched Mike. Mike was in deep thought, and he looked like he was a million miles away.

"Hey." Micky called softly.

Mike was startled, unaware that Micky was awake, and he flinched, turning to face the younger man.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to make you jump." Micky stressed.

"It's alright." Mike smiled. "How's your head?"

"A little sore, but I've felt worse." Micky reassured him.

Mike nodded slowly, watching the sleepy-looking boy carefully.

"I'm so sorry about last night." Micky begun. "I totally over-stepped the mark. I shouldn't push you and put pressure on you like that, it's not fair at all."

"It's okay, Micky." Mike responded quietly.

"It isn't though." Micky fiddled with the bed cover. He was silent for a few moments. "After my dad died, I asked my mom all the time if she was okay. Every single day I would ask her if she was okay, and she always said she was just fine... but I knew she wasn't. I wanted her to tell me she wasn't okay, not because I wanted her to _not_ be okay, but because I wanted her to tell me the truth. I wanted her to be honest with me, but instead she always told me what she thought I wanted to hear."

Mike watched Micky closely. Micky was looking down as he spoke, his voice soft and quiet, and he continued to play with the cover on the bed nervously.

"It was horrible. Seeing someone you love unhappy and knowing there's nothing you can do about it is the worst feeling in the world." Micky continued. "All I wanted to do was make it okay for Mom and my little sisters. I wanted to somehow make it right, but I couldn't, because I couldn't bring Dad back. That was the only thing that could make it okay, and there was nothing I could do about it."

Mike felt terrible hearing Micky speak like that. Micky looked so sad, and Mike understood how hard it must've been for him.

Micky looked up at Mike. "But it's not too late for you. It's not too late for you to make amends and put things right and be happy. I can't bring my dad back, but you... you have a chance to put things right. When I first met you, you were happy. I know you weren't as happy as you could've been, but... but you were _okay_. But you've been miserable for months and- and I don't like it. At the weekend I saw you happy, I saw the Mike you used to be. You smiled and laughed and I loved it, I loved seeing you like that, and I want to see you like that _every_ day. I know you carry so much guilt with you, and I know it's not just for hurting your wife. That's why I push you, because I want you to put things right so you can be happy again and you can be okay like you used to be."

Mike walked back over to the bed and sat down, facing Micky.

Micky looked down again. "It's stupid... I know it isn't easy for you. I _know_ it isn't. And I'm arrogant for thinking I'm so special that I can just tell you to fix your problems and everything will be okay. I know it's not that simple. I'm so selfish."

"No, you ain't." Mike shook his head, and Micky looked up. Mike stared at him. "You're the best friend I've ever had, Mick."

"You have lots of friends, Mike. More than you realise. There are loads of people that care about you, you just don't make it easy for them." Micky smiled sympathetically.

"I was hard on you. I'm always too hard on you." Mike took hold of Micky's hand, and he looked down at it, stroking it gently. "I know when you push me you're only trying to help. I know you are. But... but it's _hard_. You don't know what it's like to hurt people the way I have. When you suck the life out of someone you care about, it- it sucks the life out of you too. You don't know what that's like, because you're a good boy. And...and when you try to help me like that, I just- I don't know how to deal with it. I don't deserve it. I don't want to let you in because I don't want to hurt you the way I hurt her."

Micky sighed sadly, reaching out and touching the side of Mike's face. "You won't. And I'm sorry, I should be more understanding."

"You _are_ understanding." Mike looked up. "You're lovely. I hated seein' you like that last night. I hated knowing I pushed you to the limit."

"Because I pushed you first." Micky looked at Mike with certainty.

Mike gave Micky a sad look. "I'm so sorry, Mick."

"I'm sorry too." Micky smiled sympathetically. "Just know that even when I'm being annoying, I'm only trying to help."

"I know, babe. I know." Mike assured him. "But please, no matter how angry I make you, don't ever get in a car when you've been drinking. I know sometimes you're gonna want to take off, and I do too. But go for a walk, don't get behind a wheel like that. I was going out of my mind worrying about ya. When you didn't come home I thought something had happened to ya."

"I'm really sorry, that was a stupid thing to do. I just wanted to get out of the house." Micky sounded guilty.

"Well you're alright, and that's all I care about now." Mike sighed. "You are okay, ain't ya?"

Micky nodded. "I am. I am if you are."

"You don't have to worry about me; I'm fine." Mike gave Micky a reassuring smile.

"You look tired." Micky carefully touched the side of Mike's face. "It's only early and you were up half the night. You should come back to bed."

Mike nodded in agreement. He pulled the covers back and climbed in beside Micky. They cuddled up to each other, pulling the covers over them.

"I ain't ever seen you that angry before." Mike thought back to the night before. "I pushed all the wrong buttons."

"You push the right ones too though." Micky smiled at the Texan.

Mike smiled back. "Don't ever say my life would be better without you."

"Sorry... I get a bit self-pitying when I'm drunk sometimes." Micky looked a little embarrassed.

"I forgive you." Mike stroked Micky's hair. "Silly boy."

Micky smiled back at Mike. "We're okay?"

Mike nodded. "Yeah. We're okay, Mick." He leaned down and kissed Micky gently on the lips.

Micky beamed at Mike. "You know, they say the best part about having a fight is making up..."

"Oh really?" Mike raised an eyebrow.

"Mm." Micky nodded, wrapping his arms around Mike's neck.

Mike gazed down at the younger man. "You're gorgeous."

Micky grinned, biting his lip. "I know I shouldn't, but...I do find you kinda sexy when you're mad..."

"Is that so?" Mike tilted his head to the side.

Micky nodded almost guiltily. "I know it's bad, but I can't help it. I've always found it hot when you get fired up."

"You fire me up. You fire me up in more ways than one." Mike smirked.

Micky lifted his head, pressing his lips to Mike's. He pushed his tongue into Mike's mouth, kissing him deeply. Mike responded, pressing himself down on top of Micky.

Micky broke this kiss, turning his attention to Mike's earlobe. He sucked it gently, nibbling it slightly. "You drive me crazy." Micky purred into Mike's ear.

Mike shivered, moving down and sucking on Micky's neck. Micky run his fingers up Mike's back, grazing it slightly.

"You have no idea what you do to me." Mike breathed into Micky's skin, sucking on the soft flesh of Micky's neck. "I want you so bad."

Micky lost his hands in Mike's hair, and pulled him into a heated kiss once more. Micky then unexpectedly flipped them both over, so Micky was now on top. Micky then straddled Mike, grinding his crotch against the Texan's.

Mike moaned, and Micky started planting wet kisses on Mike's naked chest. He took one of Mike's nipples between his teeth, biting down gently. Mike moaned once more, his hands all over Micky, pawing at the curly haired man on top of him.

Micky raised himself up and shoved his boxers down. He managed to kick them all the way off before turning his attention to Mike's. Micky slid Mike's underwear all the way down, moving himself down with it. Mike was already pretty erect at this point, and Micky wasted no time before sucking Mike deep into his mouth.

Mike groaned, grabbing hold of Micky's hair and fisting it tightly. Micky somehow managed to let Mike's cock slide down his throat, and Mike couldn't believe Micky had managed to take him so deep without even gagging. Micky sucked Mike hard, as if he was hungry for it, and Mike could hardly control himself.

"Holy shit, Micky." Mike moaned.

After only a minute or so, Micky stopped what he was doing, and he straddled Mike once more. When Mike looked at Micky, he could see he was flushed and he wore that look of desire that drove Mike wild.

Micky smirked the smirk that only Micky could, his eyes filled with lust. Micky pressed two of his fingers against Mike's lips.

"Suck." Micky ordered.

Mike abided, sucking Micky's fingers into his mouth, coating them with saliva. Micky pulled them out and moved them behind himself, and Mike watched as Micky started fingering himself.

"Jesus..." Mike muttered as he watched the concentration on Micky's face.

Micky penetrated himself, preparing himself, and he looked Mike dead in the eye with every movement.

Micky removed his fingers. "I wanna ride you." He breathed heavily.

Mike could hardly contain his need. He sat up, grabbing hold of Micky, wrapping his arms around him and kissing him furiously. Micky moaned into Mike's mouth, and Mike slid his hands down Micky's back, grabbing hold of his ass and groping it fiercely.

"I need to fuck you." Mike choked into Micky's skin.

Micky shoved Mike away, pushing him so he was lying back down on the bed again. Micky then spat into the palm of his hand and took hold of Mike's erection once more, coating it in his saliva.

Micky then positioned himself. He took hold of Mike's cock, guiding it to his entrance. Mike looked up at Micky, watching his every move. Mike's heart was pounding in anticipation, desperate to fill the younger man.

Micky didn't want to waste any time, so he started to rock back and forth, slowly pushing himself down onto Mike. Micky's eyes snapped closed, and he let out a strangled moan; part pain, part pleasure.

"Holy fuck." Micky groaned, throwing his head back.

Mike grabbed hold of Micky's thighs, overwhelmed by the tightness. "Oh god, Micky..."

Micky was about half way down Mike's cock. "Jesus Christ Mike, you're _huge_. Holy shit..." He groaned.

"Are you- are you okay?" Mike gasped, the sensation almost overpowering.

"I feel like I'm being torn in two." Micky choked, keeping absolutely still. "You're fucking massive... You feel even bigger like this."

"We can stop." Mike rubbed Micky's thighs. He was already dripping with sweat.

"No way." Micky started rocking himself slowly. "It hurts but- but I know I'm gonna feel good. You make me feel _so_ _good_."

Micky closed his eyes, willing himself on. He pushed a little further down with every movement, but this felt totally different to normal. Micky felt like he was being impaled. They hadn't done it in this position before and Micky was keen to get the show properly on the road.

"You feel incredible, Mick." Mike gasped. "You look amazing."

Micky pushed himself right the way down, and he felt Mike's balls rest against his ass-cheeks.

"Fuck!" Mike shouted, automatically thrusting upwards. Micky cried out as Mike truly buried himself inside him.

Micky looked down at where their bodies met. Micky started moving back and forwards, and he begun to moan with every movement. Mike gripped hold of Micky's thighs and started circling his hips before sitting up and wrapping his arms around Micky once more.

They kissed passionately, Micky relaxing with every movement, the pain slowly being replaced by unbelievable pleasure. Mike grabbed hold of Micky, and he flipped them both over so Mike was now on top.

Mike paused, gazing down at Micky.

"I knew it wouldn't be long until you took charge." Micky smirked.

"Is that a problem?" Mike panted.

"No, as long as you go_ hard_."

Mike grabbed hold of Micky's wrists, pinning them above his head. He latched his lips onto Micky's neck, sucking hard as he started to thrust deep into the Californian boy. Micky cried out with every thrust, and he grabbed onto the bars of the headboard. Micky squeezed his legs tightly around Mike's waist, willing him on.

"Ughh Mike." Micky moaned. "Go harder."

Mike pressed deep inside Micky, hitting that spot inside of him that caused Micky's body to convulse and jerk with pleasure. Micky tightened his inner muscles around Mike, causing the older man to cry out in ecstasy.

"Ohhh. _Ohh fuck_, Micky..." Mike groaned.

Mike grabbed the backs of Micky's knees, pushing his legs up even further for better access. Mike closed his eyes, pounding into Micky, and although he could hear Micky's cries of pleasure, Mike suddenly worried for the man underneath him.

"Am I- u_ghh_h - am I hurting y-you?" Mike choked.

Micky shook his head. "No. Don't stop, _please_ don't stop..." He begged.

So Mike carried on as he was, hitting into Micky hard and fast and making sure he hit the spot inside him on every second thrust.

"Let me go on top again." Micky moaned. "Please."

Mike slowed his movements, letting Micky take control for the time being. Micky flipped them both over so he was straddling Mike once more. Micky pushed himself back down onto Mike, revelling at the sensation.

Micky started bobbing up and down, impaling himself on Mike. Mike grabbed hold of Micky's erection and started jerking him, and he found himself staring at Micky's cock in his hand.

Mike thought it was strange, Micky being on top of him like this. Mike could see _everything_. Seeing Micky's cock and how alive it was, knowing that Micky's arousal was being caused by Mike's own penis inside of him, was bizarre. Mike wondered exactly what Micky was feeling. He looked up at Micky's face, and it looked as if he was being sent to heaven. Micky's eyes were closed, and his hair was bobbing up at down with every movement. Micky was caked in sweat from head to toe, his stray curls sticking deliciously to his forehead. He was flushed, and he looked gorgeous. He looked sexy and cute and beautiful. Mike's knowledge that he was the cause of Micky's pleasure sent his head and body into a spin. Mike had always liked to please whichever lover he was with, but something about pleasing Micky made him feel proud. It made him feel strong. It made him feel...special? Mike knew in that moment that he was truly addicted to Micky. He was_ obsessed_ with Micky. Mike wanted every little thing he did to be for Micky, to satisfy him and make him happy. Mike thought Micky was perfect in every possible sense, and he almost didn't feel worthy of the curly-haired man on top of him.

They carried on like this for several minutes. Mike bent his legs so he could push himself upwards into his lover, and Micky rode Mike hard and fast. The two of them became totally lost in their pleasure and their passion until finally it started to reach its peak.

"Mike, I'm gonna come." Micky gasped, forcing his eyes open to look down at the Texan underneath him.

"Come for me, Mick." Mike begged, looking down at the cock in his hand. "Come _on_ me. I wanna see it."

Micky groaned loudly as Mike thrust up into him. Micky leaned forward slightly, his hands pressed against Mike's chest, and Mike watched as Micky's mouth fell open, a gasp escaping his lips, and his eyes squeezing shut. A strangled moan left Micky's mouth, and Mike looked down to see Micky erupt into Mike's hand, covering the Texan's stomach and chest.

That was all it took to tip Mike over the edge, and his back arched, pushing up and spilling himself deep inside of Micky.

Micky remained on top of Mike, his head flopping forward as he tried to catch his breath. Mike gazed up at him, still stroking the cock in his hand until Micky went soft.

Micky winced as he moved himself off of Mike and flopped down beside him. The pair of them laid there, the sound of their heavy breathing filling the room.

"Wow." Micky panted.

Mike nodded slowly, staring at the ceiling. "_Yeah_."

Micky glanced at Mike, noticing he was in a bit of a mess. Micky sat up, grabbing some tissues from the nightstand, and he turned to Mike, cleaning off Mike's stomach and chest gently.

Mike watched Micky as he carefully cleaned up the mess, and Micky then tossed the dirty tissues into the paper bin. Micky lightly touched Mike's chest, leaning down to plant a small, soft kiss on the Texan's lips.

When Micky pulled away, he brushed back Mike's hair which was slightly damp from sweat.

"And there was me thinking you were tired." Micky smiled.

Mike returned the smile, gazing into Micky's almond-shaped eyes.

"Shower?" Micky asked.

Mike nodded his head sleepily.

"Do you want to shower together..?" Micky asked a little nervously. "It'll save on water."

Mike was a little hesitant, but he agreed. "Okay." He replied quietly.

Micky smiled, kissing Mike on the lips once more. He then climbed out of bed, and Mike sat up, watching Micky's perfect backside as the younger man walked rather gingerly to the en-suite bathroom.

Mike picked up his boxers from the floor and put them on before walking the short distance to the bathroom. He shut the door behind him where he found Micky had just set the water running.

Micky turned to face Mike, glancing down to see him wearing his underwear again. Micky smiled, finding it endearing that Mike seemed to be shy about his manhood despite what they'd just been doing.

"You might want to lose those." Micky gestured to Mike's boxers.

Mike was hesitant once more, and he slowly dropped his underwear.

Once Micky tested the water was warm enough, he stepped into the shower. Mike stood there almost unsure what to do, his hands covering his modesty.

Micky looked out of the shower at the slightly older man. "What's the matter?"

"Nothin'." Mike replied, looking a little unsure. "I've er, I've never showered with anyone before."

"Seriously?" Micky questioned, squirting some soap into his hand and lathering himself up. "Not even-" He stopped himself short of mentioning Mike's estranged wife's name.

Mike looked awkward, but he knew what Micky was going to say. Mike shook his head in response.

Micky was surprised, and he smiled at Mike's uncertainty. "Well, it's pretty simple. First you gotta get in."

Mike felt a bit stupid, and he didn't really understand why he felt a so weird about showering with Micky seeing as they were having wild passionate sex a few minutes before.

Mike stepped into the shower, still awkwardly covering his lower-region. Micky turned Mike around so Mike's back was facing him, and he started rubbing soap into Mike's back. They were both half under the flow of water from the shower head, and Micky lathered the soap gently into Mike's skin. Mike was tense, and Micky could feel it. Micky found it cute, and he continued massaging the soapy bubbles into Mike's back.

After a few moments, Mike closed his eyes. The combination of the warm water and Micky's soft hands caressing his skin managed to make Mike relax. Micky smiled, physically feeling the tension almost disappear from Mike's body.

"See," Micky cooed softly into Mike's ear from behind. "This isn't so bad, is it?"

"Mmm..." Mike sighed contently.

The two of them stayed in the shower for about 15 minutes. They held each other, covering each other in soapy bubbles. Micky insisted on rubbing the shampoo into Mike's hair before turning his attention to his own curly locks. Mike's unease seemed to disappear as time went on to the point where he felt almost utterly relaxed.

Micky was first to emerged from the shower, leaving Mike to rinse himself off. Micky quickly dried himself down, hanging the towel back up ready for Mike before turning his attention to his hair.

Mike climbed out of the shower, taking hold of Micky's towel and tying it around his waist. Micky had gotten hold of smaller towel, and was rubbing his hair dry, sort of scrunching it as he did so. Micky was paying particular attention to his hair, and he noticed Mike's reflection in the large mirror watching him was fascination.

"I gotta do all this or otherwise it'll go flat and look stupid." Micky tossed the towel to the side and started 'fluffing' up his curls.

Mike found himself grinning at the younger man and the concentration on Micky's face as he tried to organise the mass of damp curly hair on his head.

"It's not funny." Micky noticed Mike's reflection looked amused. "This hair is a pain in the ass!"

"No, your curls are great." Mike reached out to touch Micky's hair, still watching him in the mirror. "They're just like you. Soft and lively."

Micky turned to face Mike, and he could hardly contain the grin on his face. "They're annoying." He giggled.

"No, they're gorgeous." Mike reached up to touch Micky's hair once more, but his towel slipped a little. Mike instantly grabbed hold of his towel, quickly pulling it around his waist again.

"It's a little late to be shy around me, you know." Micky gave Mike a look. "I've seen it all before. I'm pretty well acquainted with your dick by now. It was inside of me at both ends a little while ago."

Mike's cheeks turned an interesting shade of scarlet.

"Why are you embarrassed?" Micky was amused, but also a little confused.

"I dunno." Mike felt himself tense up. "It's just- I dunno. It's weird."

Micky was puzzled. "You certainly have nothing to be embarrassed in_ that_ department. Most guys would kill to have equipment like yours."

Mike cringed a little, his cheeks going even brighter.

"Sorry." Micky felt a little embarrassed at Mike's obvious discomfort. "Does it make you feel awkward when I say things like that?"

"A little." Mike wasn't able to look Micky in the eye. "I don't know why though."

"I don't know why either." Micky stepped closer to Mike. "Like I say, I've seen it all before. Just because we're not about to have sex doesn't make it any different. A dicks a dick, even if yours is bigger than most."

Mike just stood there looking a little uncomfortable.

Micky's face suddenly fell. "Does it make you feel weird _me_ being naked?" He asked, suddenly realising he was standing butt-naked in front of Mike. "Because I can cover myself up-"

"No, no." Mike shook his head. "No, you don't have to. You're- you're perfect. You don't need to cover up."

Mike's face went even redder.

"Well I think you're perfect too, babe." Micky tilted his head to the side, looking at Mike adoringly.

Mike visibly tensed up. He looked horribly uncomfortable.

"You do know that, don't you?" Micky questioned. "You know I think you're good-looking. I-I always have. I think you're really, _really_ hot."

"Stop." Mike cringed.

"I'm sorry. Except that I'm not, because it's true. But I'm sorry if you don't like hearing it." Micky smiled at Mike sympathetically, and he turned back to the mirror, looking at his hair once more. "Oh look, it's gone all flat at the front."

Mike glanced Micky up and down from behind, admiring his apparent confidence.

Micky looked at Mike through the mirror. "I can finish up my stupid hair in my room. I'm gonna leave you to sort yourself out." He then turned around to face Mike. "Do you wanna go back to bed? I could do with a rest after that morning work-out."

"Any excuse to stay in bed." Mike smiled.

"It's the best place to be." Micky grinned. "You look like you could do with the rest too, old man."

Mike yawned on queue. "I think you might be right."

Micky walked forward, pressing a kiss to Mike's lips. "I'll see you in a minute."

Micky left Mike to do whatever it was he did after he showered, and returned to his bedroom. Micky was confused as to how Mike could suddenly go shy, but he found it rather sweet.

About half an hour later, Mike and Micky were back lazing around in bed.

Micky was thoughtful. As tired as he was, his mind was too busy to sleep.

"Are you awake?" Micky whispered. His head was resting on Mike's chest, and he couldn't quite glance up enough to see if the Texan was asleep or not.

"Mhm." Mike responded.

"If I ask you a question, will you promise to be honest with me?" Micky asked.

Mike felt a little nervous having no idea what Micky was going to ask, and knowing Micky, he could ask absolutely _anything_.

"Okay..." Mike responded anxiously.

"Do you... do you judge me?" Micky wondered after a short silence. "I mean...do you think less of me, you know, for- for what we do...for what I like you to do to me..? Like what we did earlier, because I like it kinda... rough? Do you think that makes me less of a man? You can be honest, you know... I-I can handle it. I just- I just want to know, I suppose..."

Mike was surprised by Micky's question. "No. No I don't think that at all." He replied gently. "Is that what you think?"

"N-No, not really." Micky replied a little nervously. "To be honest, it- it kinda makes me feel _more_ like a man. I know that's stupid and it doesn't really make sense, but... but I don't know. When we're together like that, when you're- you know...it- it's good. I mean, it's _better_ than good. And I just... I just don't want you to think that I'm... I don't know, that I'm like a chick or something. Or like I'm not a real man. Or whatever..."

Micky was thankful that he couldn't see Mike's face. He felt embarrassed, and he felt a little silly asking that question, but he really needed to know the answer.

"You're a man, Mick. I don't see you as anythin' less." Mike stroked Micky's back tenderly.

Micky felt reassured. He lifted his head to look at Mike. "Are you sure? Because sometimes I wonder if you think...well, if you think I'm actually gay."

"Even if you were, you'd still be a man." Mike looked Micky in the eye.

Micky hadn't really thought of it like that before, even though it was stupid to think of it any other way. "Yeah...yeah, I guess you're right." Micky nodded thoughtfully. "But I'm not, though. I mean, if I was, I don't think I'd mind... At the end of the day, it doesn't really matter what I am or what I'm not. I like being with you. It feels right."

Mike looked up at Micky, and Micky couldn't read the older man's expression.

"I mean, I don't think it matters what people enjoy, you know, in bed." Micky continued. "I've always been into trying new things, it's not a really big deal for me. I mean, obviously doing things with you was a big deal, because that was totally different to anything I'd ever done before, but still... I think people can do what they want. So what if some people like it rough or soft or- or they wanna be, I dunno, tied up or spanked or something. Or if people just wanna do it in the same missionary position the whole time, I mean, it doesn't matter. If you dig it, you dig it."

Mike watched Micky intently as he spoke. Mike felt a little uncomfortable with Micky's little speech, although he agreed with every word.

"Sorry. I don't really know why I'm saying all that." Micky looked a little embarrassed.

"You don't have to justify it, you know." Mike said quietly. "I don't think any less of ya."

There was definite uncertainty in Micky's eyes. "So you don't think..." He trailed off.

Mike looked at Micky eagerly, expectantly, wondering what he was going to say. "What?"

Micky looked unsure, and he cringed slightly. "You don't think I'm the _girl_ in this relationship?"

Mike felt embarrassed at the question, and also uncomfortable that Micky had referred to them as being in a 'relationship'.

"Not relationship." Micky quickly corrected, as he knew Mike didn't want them to 'label' what they had. Micky looked defeated. "You know what I mean..."

Mike scratched his head. "I-I don't think that." He replied hesitantly.

The truth was, Mike wasn't sure how to answer that question. Mike was more than aware that Micky was a man, but Mike felt a protectiveness and an almost responsibility-like feeling towards Micky. Mike felt like he was in charge, that he was the boss, that he was the one who was in control. Mike didn't see that as Micky being less than him, or not as important, or not as strong or manly. But Mike had naturally slipped into the role of aggressor. Not just in bed, but in every sense. Mike was the one who spoke only when he wanted to speak. Micky had been the one to open up about his feelings, let himself be more open and vulnerable, more accessible, whereas Mike still had this wall built around him. And although Micky had knocked his way through that wall a little bit, Mike was still very much guarded. Mike _did_ feel like the _man_ in the little thing they had going on, but what did that make Micky? Mike didn't particularly see Micky as girly, but Micky was sensitive and he wore his heart on his sleeve, and those attributes were generally associated with women.

So Mike was confused. While Mike didn't see Micky as a girl, he did sort of put Micky into the girl-role of their 'thing'. It was strange, thinking about it. When Mike was married, he and his wife had very specific roles. Being with another man meant the whole dynamic had changed. Micky was actually more sensitive and vulnerable than Mike's wife had been, which threw Mike even more.

"Mike?"

Mike realised he'd drifted off with his thoughts, and he noticed Micky was watching him with a concerned look on his face.

"You need to stop lookin' to me for reassurance." Mike said matter-of-factly. "I ain't always going to be able to say what you wanna hear."

"Didn't you listen to me earlier?" Micky looked a little annoyed. "I don't want you to say what I wanna hear; I want you to tell me the _truth_."

Mike sighed. "Yeah... I know ya do. I'm sorry." He thought for a second. "I don't think of you as a girl in this, Mick. Is that how you see yourself?"

"No... I don't know." Micky looked conflicted. "I just don't want _you_ seeing me like that."

Mike scratched his head. "I don't. But everything's so...everything's so jumbled up. My head is a big confused mess. I don't know what our roles are...I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what _we're_ doing. So when you ask me things like that, I don't really know how to answer. It just confuses things even more."

Micky looked a little confused himself, staring at Mike blankly.

"You know how I feel about ya. You sure as hell ain't a girl. But you have a big heart, a big, open heart...that's just different to me. We're totally different people."

"Right..." Micky was thoughtful.

"I don't judge ya for anything, Mick. No more than I judge myself, anyway." Mike admitted.

Micky nodded his head slowly. "I'm sorry I confuse things. I'm confused too, to be honest. Sometimes I can't even believe we're here together like this."

"Mmm... yeah, I know." Mike agreed. "It's a lot to take in."

"There's a lot to adjust to." Micky looked at Mike.

"Exactly." Mike nodded. "I try not to think about it too much, even though it's hard not too."

"Yeah. Maybe I think too much." Micky wondered. He then smiled at Mike. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry." Mike touched Micky's face.

Micky cuddled up to Mike again, his mind still racing. As happy as he was the way things were going with Mike, each day Micky wanted a little bit more. Micky wondered where this was going, and how long it'd last. He wasn't entirely sure where he stood with Mike. Micky was aware it was never going to be 'simple' or 'easy', and he knew Mike was never going to open himself up and give Micky exactly what he wanted. But Micky did feel a little lost and uncertain about the future. Not that Micky looked too far into the future; he only got as far as the next week. Micky couldn't bring himself to think any further ahead than that. Every time it crossed his mind that Mike's house would soon be finished, or that they were due to go on tour in a few months, Micky blocked out those thoughts. Right now, things were as easy as they could possibly be under the circumstances, with Mike living there with Micky. Micky didn't dare think about what might happen after that.


	21. Chapter 21

It was now Saturday the 8th of March - Micky's 24th birthday.

Micky had had a busy couple of days leading up to his birthday, being visited by family that wouldn't be attending his party; his party was strictly friends-only. Mike's sons had spent the night, and Mike and the children were up, out and gone long before Micky woke up. When Mike returned home in the middle of the afternoon after dropping the boy's home, he met Micky coming down the stairs.

Mike locked the door behind him, as he always did when they were inside. He then turned to face Micky, who had just reached the bottom of the stairs. He hadn't seen the birthday boy so far that day.

"Happy birthday." Mike smiled at the excited-looking curly-haired man.

"Thank you." Micky beamed. "Do I get a birthday kiss?"

Mike stepped closer to Micky, and he planted a small kiss on Micky's forehead, prompting Micky to smile sweetly at him.

"What time are people arriving?" Mike wondered.

"Not 'til a bit later. I think some friends are coming early but most won't get here until tonight." Micky replied.

"Okay. Have you got a minute?" Mike looked a little anxious.

"Uh, I've got to go see my mom in a little while, she says she's got a surprise for me that she couldn't give me yesterday. I know what it is though; it's a cake. She makes me a cake every year. They're always so delicious and she'll expect me to bring it out tonight, but I'm not going to. I'll hide it away so me and you can have it all to ourselves."

Micky grinned wickedly, and Mike found it hard to believe Micky had turned 24 and not 9.

"Oh... so you don't have a minute?" Mike looked a little disappointed.

"Well yeah, I don't have to go just yet." Micky's face fell slightly, fearing something was wrong. "What's up?"

"I uh, I just wanted to give you your er, your birthday present." Mike blushed.

Micky's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Really?" He beamed.

"Well not if you don't want it." Mike joked.

Micky looked serious. "Why would I want a present from _you_?"

Mike's face fell, and he stared at Micky blankly.

"I'm just kidding!" Micky bounced. "Of course I want it! What is it?!"

Mike sighed. "You'll have to wait and see. Let me go get it."

"Okay." Micky grinned from ear to ear.

Mike went up to his room to fetch the present for Micky. When he returned, he met Micky in the lounge who was waiting expectantly.

Mike sat down beside Micky on the couch, and handed him a box a little awkwardly. "Here ya go."

Micky looked like a child on Christmas morning, and he opened the box, pulling out whatever it was inside that was wrapped in a piece of protective paper.

"If it ain't no good you can exchange it or take it back or whatever, I kept the receipt." Mike assured Micky. Mike always felt awkward giving gifts.

Micky pulled back the paper to reveal a brand spanking new camera.

Micky's face went from excited to looking genuinely touched.

"I uh, I looked at the camera you already got and I think this one is meant to be better, I think it's brand new but if you don't want it it's cool. I can take it back." Mike's cheeks flushed red as Micky inspected the camera closely.

"Are you kidding? I read about it a few weeks ago and have been meaning to get my hands on it since."

"Well now you got it."

Micky looked up at the Texan. "Thank you so much. I didn't expect this."

"It's nothin' much, really..." Mike replied modestly.

"Shut up, I love it." Micky looked to the camera again. "I've got some seriously groovy things so far but this has got to be my favourite present."

Mike smiled, feeling a little more relaxed. "I'm glad you like it."

Micky looked up, giving Mike a warm smile. He leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on Mike's lips. "Thank you."

"My pleasure, babe. You take good care of it."

"I will. I'm going to use it tonight, take loads of pictures." Micky said excitedly. "But I'll look after it. I probably won't use it once it gets too late and things start getting wild. I don't want anyone breaking it or anything."

Mike nodded his head, feeling a little uneasy at the thought of things getting too wild.

"Is everythin' organised?" Mike questioned.

"Yep, I think everything is in order." Micky looked around the large room. "You know the drill, anything of real value gets locked away in the office. That's probably where my camera will end up later on."

"Groovy." Mike nodded.

Micky looked at his watch. "Shit, I better get to Mom's." He sighed.

"Yeah, and I gotta go meet John. We're going to jam together."

Micky gave Mike a look. "So you won't be here when I get back?"

"No, we got some studio time booked. He wants me to help him lay down some ideas." Mike replied.

Micky looked disappointed. "Well he's invited to the party too, you know. I told you you can bring whoever you want - anyone is welcome."

"I know, but we'll be here later tonight." Mike assured him. "Just not right away."

Micky looked at Mike hard. "I know you're feeling weird about this. And to be honest, I'm feeling weird about it too."

"Feelin' weird about what?" Mike questioned.

"Well, this is the first party I've thrown since things have happened with us." Micky begun. "And all these people are gonna be here... Here in our little bubble. Being around people is different when it's not on your home turf. I don't know...maybe it's just me who feels like it. But I kinda feel like this house is our little safe haven, like we can do whatever we want here and no one can touch us. And now there's going to be tons of people here..."

Mike nodded slowly. He felt exactly the same way, but he was surprised Micky felt it too.

"Do you feel like that?" Micky wondered.

"Yeah... yeah I do, actually." Mike replied, looking at Micky. "I didn't think you would though."

"Well I do." Micky nodded. "It only really hit me yesterday. But nothing can touch us, you know that, don't you? It's not like there's evidence lying about the place. It's not going to change anything."

"I guess not." Mike scratched his head. "It's just..."

"...Weird. I know." Micky finished Mike's sentance. "But you know you can trust me, don't you? I'm not going to say anything. I know you're worried about me spilling the beans but I won't."

Mike was a little uneasy, and the truth was he didn't entirely trust Micky when he was drunk, but he also knew Micky would never intentionally do anything on purpose. "I know." He forced a smile.

Micky smiled back. "Good. Now I better get to Mom's or she'll seriously kill me. But I'll see you tonight though?"

"'Course you will." Mike replied, and they both rose to their feet, Micky with camera in hand.

Mike looked to the camera. "Don't tell anyone I bought you that."

"Why not?" Micky looked confused. "You've brought me birthday presents before."

Mike simply looked at Micky, silently asking him to accept his request.

"Okay. I won't say anything." Micky agreed.

"Thanks."

Micky smiled. "I'll see you tonight."

Micky turned to leave, and he was about to exit the room when Mike stopped him.

"Micky," Mike called after him. The curly haired man turned around, but Mike just stood there looking a little uncertain.

"Yeah?" Micky looked at Mike expectantly.

Mike stood opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it. "It doesn't matter." He sighed.

"What were you going to say?" Micky wondered.

Mike sighed, once more, looking a little awkward. "Just… I know it's your birthday n' all, and I want you to have a good time, but… but please don't do anything stupid. Don't- Don't go too crazy, will you?"

Micky smiled at Mike, touched by his concern. "I won't. I'll be good, I promise."

Mike smiled weakly, looking a little embarrassed.

Micky approached the Texan once more and gave him a small kiss on the lips. "I'll see you later."

* * *

Mike arrived home at a little before midnight to find Micky's party in full swing. The house was packed with Micky's friends and acquaintances - and friends of acquaintances - and Mike couldn't deny he felt uncomfortable with all these people in his and Micky's little 'bubble'.

Mike and his friend John walked into the lounge. Mike eye's were immediately drawn to one of the couches where a couple were making out passionately. Mike felt strange, as that was the very same couch that he and Micky had shared their first tryst together a few weeks before.

Mike then spotted Micky, and it was obvious that the birthday boy was well on his way to being completely wasted. Micky was doing shots with a few of his friends, and another of Micky's friends approached him, handing him another drink.

Mike found himself staring at Micky, watching him intently. Micky then spotted Mike, and he beamed from ear to ear at the Texan. Mike instantly tensed up, and quickly occupied himself in case anyone noticed the way Micky was looking at him.

A little later, Mike had attempted to relax with a couple of drinks, but it didn't seem to be working. He made conversation with a few friends of his that were in attendance, but he found himself constantly worrying about Micky. Mike did well to hide it, but he couldn't resist watching over the slightly younger man whenever the chance arose.

Mike was aware Micky was getting more and more drunk, and Mike was fairly certain Micky was high as well. Every time he looked at Micky, someone was handing him another drink which he would gladly accept. Mike started to feel anxious and uncomfortable, fearing that Micky would push himself too far and say something he shouldn't. And it wasn't just that - Mike simply didn't like the state Micky would get himself into.

Mike had just been to fetch himself another drink when he spotted Micky and a blonde girl clearly flirting. Micky was close to her with that cheeky look on his face, saying something to the blonde that she clearly enjoyed hearing. The blonde laughed, touching Micky on the arm in a flirtatious fashion.

A number of incidents like this occurred throughout the night. Mike tried his best to ignore it, but he was struggling. Unintentionally or not, Micky was winding him up.

Mike went outside to get some fresh air. There were plenty of people outside as well, messing around, smoking, skinny dipping in Micky's pool. There were even a couple having sex on one of the sun-lounges. None of this was really Mike's scene, and he couldn't wait until the party was over and all these strange people were out of the house.

When Mike walked back into the house, he saw Micky talking to someone Mike didn't recognise. Mike noticed that the man was showing Micky something in the palm of his hand.

"…good stuff." Mike heard the guy finish saying as he walked a little closer to them both.

Mike managed to see that Micky was being offered a pill. Micky looked into the man's hand curiously, and it looked to Mike like he was tempted. Micky lifted his head, noticing Mike was watching him, and his face fell.

"No, I'm good thanks, man." Micky told the guy.

The man shrugged and walked off, leaving Micky to beam at Mike. Micky looked at Mike with a proud grin, as if Mike should give him a pat on the back for being a 'good boy' and resisting the little pill he'd been offered. Mike was angry, wondering what Micky would've done if he hadn't noticed Mike watching over him.

Micky continued to stare at Mike, and his eyes seemed to change. He stared at Mike with lust in those almond-shaped eyes. Micky gave Mike the look he'd give when he wanted - and needed - sex. Mike started to feel a little flushed and uneasy, hoping and praying that nobody else noticed the way Micky was looking at him.

Mike turned away, and a drunken guy that Mike didn't even know started chatting to him. Mike was relieved to have the distraction, but whenever he glanced back at Micky he noticed Micky was still looking at him with the same hungry look in his eyes.

Mike wasn't sure if he was being paranoid, but for the next half an hour Mike could feel Micky watching him. Micky went back to doing what he did; drinking and dancing. But Micky still kept glancing at Mike, giving him quick little looks that spoke volumes, and it was starting to get under the Texan's skin.

Mike had had enough. Micky had been pushing his buttons all night, and he wasn't happy with the way Micky seemed to be getting more and more drunk. Mike walked over to the birthday boy.

"Where's the key for the office?" Mike questioned.

"Uh-uh, umm, in the drawer in the hall." Micky looked a little confused.

"I'm gonna be in there." Mike spoke low and quiet. Everyone was too drunk to even notice or care about their exchange.

Micky smirked, and Mike glared at him, suggesting he'd got the wrong idea.

Mike fetched the key to the office, and let himself in the small room. It wasn't really an 'office' as Micky didn't really have any need for one. It was just the 'grown-up' room where Micky kept legal documents, bank statements and all that boring stuff. It was a room his mother would use now and then to check over Micky's finances and make sure everything was in order for her son. But this was the room Micky used to lock away anything of any real value during his wild parties, to save them from getting broken or stolen.

Mike shut himself in the room, waiting patiently for Micky. The room was down the hallway and out of the way of most of the guests, so Mike was confident he could give Micky the talking-to he wanted to without being disturbed or overheard. The music and noise from the party-goers was enough to block out any voices that may come from inside the office.

It wasn't long before Micky entered the room with a cheeky grin on his face. He locked the door behind him and staggered straight over to Mike, wrapping his arms around the Texan's neck.

"You're naughty." Micky giggled.

Mike removed Micky's arms, stepping back and away from him.

"What the hell are you playin' at, boy?" Mike spoke in an aggressive hushed tone.

Micky looked like a naughty little boy who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He tried to put his arms around Mike's neck again. "Don't you want me?"

Mike shrugged Micky off. "Do you want people to get suspicious?" He snapped. "You keep givin' me that look, do you think people ain't gonna notice you staring at me all the goddamn time?"

"You stare at me too." Micky bit his lip, his eyes bright with lust. "Y-You think I don't see you looking at me, but I do. I can feel it."

"I don't." Mike said bluntly.

Micky walked closer. "I can't help it. I can't help it if I want you."

Micky wrapped his arms around Mike's neck.

"Micky, don't." Mike said sternly, but he didn't try to push Micky away.

"Nobody notices, nobody cares. And nobody knows we're in here." Micky leaned forward, attempting to kiss Mike on the lips.

Mike finally found the willpower to push Micky away again. "Are you crazy?!" He said in a hushed voice. "There's people just outside!"

"Nooo there isn't." Micky waved his hands dismissively. "Nobody is around. You can hear them all down the hall. We're safe in here, the door is locked... no one can get to us."

Micky stepped forward again, and he grabbed hold of Mike's crotch through his pants.

Mike flinched, and Micky stepped closer, pressing his body against the slightly taller man. "I want you." Micky started massaging Mike through his jeans. "I want you so bad."

Mike closed his eyes. He wasn't completely sober himself as he'd had several drinks by now, and there was so much smoke wafting about the air that he felt a little must've gone to his head. Mike's usually strong and rational thinking seemed to shrink in size and be replaced by this feeling of need that was being spurred on by his growing erection.

"It's my birthday, and I want you to _fuck_ me." Micky whispered seductively in Mike's ear.

Mike was so wound up. He'd been frustrated by Micky's behaviour - justifiably or not - all night, and a part of him just wanted to shut the younger man up. The other part of him simply wanted to fuck Micky's brains out.

Mike grabbed hold of Micky's hips, pulling him forward. Mike quickly unbuckled his own belt and undid the zipper on his jeans. He then grabbed hold of Micky, pulling him backwards and pushing him hard against the desk. Mike then went to the button of Micky's pants, popping it open and dragging down the zip.

Mike spun Micky around, bending him forward over the desk and yanking his pants and boxers down to reveal that perfectly pert backside. Mike rammed a finger inside of Micky, causing him to moan, and he circled it around for only a few seconds before removing it just as fast.

Mike spat into the palm of his hand, coating his erection with saliva and wasting no time at all before thrusting himself deep inside of that waiting ass. Micky cried out, not used to so little preparation, but Mike was fairly certain the alcohol in Micky's system would help ease the pain.

Mike knew this would have to be quick, and he buried himself deep inside that glorious channel. Micky groaned loudly, and Mike instantly stretched forward, placing his hand tight over Micky's mouth to stifle his moans. Mike gripped hold of the shirt on Micky's back with his free hand, and he started thrusting inside of Micky hard and fast, getting rid of all that pent-up frustration.

Micky's body responded well to the rough treatment, bucking forward and pushing himself back onto Mike's dick. Micky moaned loud into Mike's hand, and Mike bit the inside of his own lip to contain his own noise of pleasure. Mike looked down to where their bodies met, and he watched as his huge erection slipped in and out of Micky's perfectly round and smooth backside, and Mike could hardly contain himself, closing his eyes and tilting his head back as he enjoyed the warmth and tightness of Micky's lively body.

Micky clawed at the wooden surface, gripping hold of the other side of the desk top with his left hand, and letting his right hand travel down beneath the desk to jerk himself off furiously.

Mike found that spot inside Micky, and he pounded it. He pounded Micky harder than he'd ever done before, and the way Micky was moaning and his body was jolting, he was loving every second of it. There was no way this was going to last long at all, and Mike pulled himself almost all the way out before slamming back in, hitting that spot inside Micky over and over again in an attempt to send him over the edge.

Micky slammed his fist into the desk top three times in a passion-filled frenzy, digging his fingernails into the wood and crying out as his orgasm hit him. Once Mike knew Micky had reached his climax, he let his own orgasm hit him, and he thrust deep inside of Micky, spending himself completely into the curly haired man.

As soon as Mike was finished, he pulled out. His breathing was ragged and his brow was covered in a thin layer of sweat. Mike quickly shoved himself back in his underwear and pulled up his jeans.

Micky wearily stood up, turning himself around and leaning back against the desk looking a little dazed.

Mike turned to face his lover. "Get yourself sorted." He ordered, as Micky just stood there with his pants half-way down his legs.

Micky was snapped out of his little daze, and he did as he was told, pulling up his underwear and jeans.

Mike noticed the mess Micky had made under the desk. "You need to clear that up as well." He said as he fastened his belt.

Mike walked to a mirror that hung on the wall, and checked his reflection. He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, ridding himself of any sweat. He patted down his hair and took a deep breath, trying to make himself look presentable.

When Mike turned back to Micky, he noticed Micky looked nothing short of a mess. Mike sighed, walking over to him. "You ain't leaving this room 'til you've got yourself together."

"You're amazing." Micky gushed breathlessly, looking to be in his own little world.

"Tuck yourself in. You look a mess, Mick." Mike gestured to Micky's shirt that was hanging messily over the top of his pants. Mike then turned his attention to Micky's hair, as some of his curls had stuck to his forehead the way they always did during sex.

Mike fluffed up Micky's hair, fearing that Micky was in no state to do it himself. Micky simply gazed at Mike with a satisfied look on his face.

Micky bit his lip. "I like it when you're rough with me."

"Shut up. We shouldn't have done that." Mike was annoyed at himself.

Mike brushed Micky's shirt down, straightening the boy out. Micky's cheeks looked flushed, but apart from that he didn't look like he'd just had his brains fucked out.

"No one knew. No one will know what we just did." Micky reassured him, though his words were slurred so they didn't carry too much weight.

"You better not push me again, Mick. I mean it." Mike said firmly.

"You liked it though." Micky wrapped his arms around Mike's neck again.

Mike took hold of Micky's arms and placed them down at his side. "Stop it. You better get your fucking act together, I swear to god. Behave yourself."

"Sorry." Micky giggled.

"Now clean up that mess. I don't want any traces of this left in here, do you understand?"

Micky nodded.

"And you say _nothin'_ about this."

"Of course I won't. W-Why would I say anything? I'm not going to say anything. I'm not stupid." Micky looked a little annoyed. "It's our secret."

"I'm out of here. You stay in here a bit longer. If anyone asks we were just checkin' everything was okay in here, you got it?"

"No one cares, Mike." Micky sighed. "They're not gonna ask."

"I'm covering our backs, okay?" Mike felt a little stressed out.

Micky nodded.

"Now I don't want you lookin' at me. I want you to be totally yourself, you got that? Be normal. I can't have you raisin' any suspicions. I mean it."

"You can trust me, you know." Micky slurred, waving his hand. "I won't- I won't stuff up."

"You better not."

Mike turned and walked out, not looking back at Micky. He left the room, shutting the door behind him. He took a deep breath, annoyed and angry at himself for being so weak. That had been such a dangerous thing to do, and he couldn't believe he'd let it happen. But Micky was right - no one knew they were in there, and no one cared. There was no one outside the room, and there was so much noise filling the house that there's no way they could've been heard either.

All the same, Mike was still mad, and he was mad at Micky for showing no remorse for his behaviour. Mike kicked himself for rewarding Micky for his behaviour, and he wondered when it was that he became so weak and easily led.

Mike felt uneasy as he re-joined the party. Everyone was doing their own thing, and he doubted that anyone had even noticed he was gone. People sure didn't seem to notice him returning to where the biggest crowd was, but he couldn't help feel paranoid. He looked around, studying everyone's faces, half expecting someone to be giving him a disgusted look, knowing what he'd just been up to.

Mike got himself another drink and sat down on one of the only chairs available. His legs felt like jelly, and he still felt a little flushed and hot around the edges following the great sex he'd just had.

About 10 minutes later, Micky returned to the room looking even happier and more excited than before. If Micky was having the same paranoid thoughts that Mike was having, he sure as hell didn't show it. Micky looked more alive than ever, and Mike felt both envious and annoyed at Micky's lack of shame for what they'd just done.

Mike eventually made his way back outside where a couple of his friends were. He found it hard looking them in the eye and maintaining a normal conversation when he'd been fucking his band mate just 30 minutes before, but as time went on he managed to relax a little.

Mike stayed outside with his buddies for about an hour. It was about 3am by this point, and Mike was starting to get bored and restless. Mike certainly wasn't one for partying all night, and the alcohol in his system had started to wear off, part from time, part from fatigue and part from the sex he'd had earlier on. The party, however, showed no signs of slowing down. On the contrary, it seemed to be getting wilder and wilder.

When Mike re-entered the house, he found Micky dancing with the blonde girl he'd been flirting with earlier. They were dancing really close, and the blonde was all over Micky. Mike felt his blood slowly start to boil watching the pair. Micky looked totally out of it now, his eyes spaced out, and it was as if no one else was in the room.

The blonde turned around, pushing her ass against Micky's crotch and grinding against him. Micky had his hands on her stomach, rubbing her up and down, her little red dress rising up every time Micky's hands moved up and down her front.

Micky didn't even notice Mike standing there staring at him, and that made Mike feel even worse. Mike was absolutely livid.

But then Micky noticed Mike, and instead of stopping what he was doing, he simply smirked at the Texan. Micky looked Mike straight in the eye as he ground his crotch against the blonde girls ass. The girl was laughing, clearly just as drunk as Micky was, and also sharing the look of need in Micky's eyes.

Mike could tell by the way the girl was dancing with Micky that she wanted him to fuck her. And Micky was certainly giving her no reason to think he _wasn't_ going to fuck her. The blonde turned around, wrapping her arms around Micky's neck and whispering something into Micky's ear that made Micky's devilish grin grown wider.

Mike was nothing short of furious. He felt overcome with jealously, though he didn't feel he had any real right to be jealous. He and Micky had never discussed being exclusive. There was no way Mike would even allow the topic to arise, as Mike didn't even label them as being in a relationship. While Micky had told Mike that he didn't want anyone else, this was Micky he was talking about. Micky, who used to pick up at least one girl every week. As far as Mike was aware, Micky hadn't been with a woman since their little thing had properly started - but how could he be sure? Micky had never said he _hadn't_ been with anyone else. How did Mike know what Micky got up to when he was out and about? Sure, Micky hadn't brought any girls back to the house, but that didn't mean nothing had happened. Mike knew Micky wasn't against fucking in a toilet cubical in some club or bar, or at a friend's house during a party. So Mike really didn't know for sure that Micky hadn't been with anyone else at all.

Micky was wasted. His eyes were red-rimmed, watery, and Mike wondered if he'd taken something in the short time he'd been in the garden. While this could maybe explain his carelessness with the blonde, it made Mike even angrier. Mike hated it when Micky got himself like this. He didn't like it when Micky made himself completely vulnerable to everyone and everything. Mike realised how possessive he felt towards the younger man. Mike despised the way Micky put himself on a plate when he was out of it, not just sexually, but in every sense. Mike worried about Micky, and always had done. But that worry only seemed to be getting worse and worse.

Micky and the blonde were now virtually dry-humping while dancing to The Doors. Everyone else in the room had turned into one big blur, and all Mike could see was the two of them all over each other. There was no kissing, but Mike felt that would only be a matter of time. It'd only be a matter of time until they dragged each other off to do god-knows what to each other, and Mike physically felt his flesh crawl.

Mike had seen enough, and he stormed out of the room. Again, nobody noticed, and nobody cared. Everyone else was a mess too. There didn't seem to be a single sane person in the house at this point, and Mike felt like he was involved in some kind of freak show. There were people everywhere, making out, tripping out, dancing on tables and chairs, fucking, dancing like lunatics. Mike felt completely out of his depth, and all he wanted was for everyone to get out. He wanted everyone to get out and leave him and Micky alone.

Mike went upstairs to his room where he found a couple making out on top of his bed.

"Get the hell out of here!" Mike yelled upon seeing the couple, startling them out of their tryst, grateful that it hadn't gotten any further.

"Sorry, dude." The guy grabbed his girlfriend by the hand and the pair of them left Mike to it.

Mike slammed the door behind them, propping a chair in front of it and ruing the fact that Micky had lost the key to his room. Mike dragged the covers off his bed, inspecting his sheets for some strangers juices, and he was satisfied that nothing else had gone down upon them.

Mike knew there was no way he'd be able to sleep with the noise coming from downstairs, but he just needed to get away from it.

Mike laid on top of his bed, fully clothed, and wrapped his pillow around his head. He tried to block out the noise, but also his thoughts of Micky and the girl dancing downstairs.

Mike was absolutely furious with Micky. He was angry about the way Micky had been looking at him, the way Micky would probably have accepted that pill if he hadn't been watching him, the way Micky had seduced him in the office, and the way Micky was dancing with that girl. He was angry that Micky had gotten himself so drunk even though he'd promised Mike he'd "be good". Mike felt let down, and he was angry at himself for expecting anything different from Micky. This was Micky, after all. Micky was wild. Micky was irresponsible. Micky didn't think about the consequences. Why did Mike expect anything less?

_"It's his birthday, what did you expect? You expect him to be tucked up in bed with a glass of warm milk by midnight?"_

_"He's a womaniser. He loves loving women. You seriously expect him to be satisfied with just a dick for weeks? He's probably fucking that chicks brains out right now, just the way you fucked his brains out a couple of hours ago."_

Mike squeezed the pillow round his head even harder, trying to block out the voices in his head as well as the noise from downstairs. He was angry with himself that although he was furious with Micky, he was still incredibly worried about him. Micky could send Mike sick with worry. If Micky blacked out from too much booze or drugs, would anyone down there care? And the people that did care, would they be in a fit enough state to look after him and make sure he was alright?

_"He's not a child. He's a grown man who can look after himself. If he's big enough to get himself into that mess, he should be big enough to get himself out it. He's a big boy."_

"_But he's **my** boy._" Mike argued back.


	22. Chapter 22

Mike had eventually managed to fall asleep, and it was 7:30 when he woke up again. Mike sat up, rubbing his eyes. He had a headache, and he was still tired having only had a few hours sleep. Mike climbed out of bed, opened his bedroom door, and listened for any noise from downstairs. The music had stopped, but there were still a few voices. Mike tried to listen for Micky, but it was in vain. He thought about going down to see the damage from the night before, and to check Micky was okay, but instead he decided to head back to bed for another couple of hours kip.

Mike eventually woke up again at nearly 11 o'clock, and not being one for lying around in bed all day, he decided to get up. Mike showered and dressed himself before heading downstairs. The house was an absolute mess - empty cans, bottles and glasses were all over the place, and everything was horribly untidy.

While the vast majority of guests had gone home already, there were also several people crashed out about the place, curled up on the floor and on the couches. That was when Mike spotted Micky asleep on the couch. Mike walked over to him, and leaned down, checking Micky was okay. Micky was sound asleep on his stomach, totally crashed out. Mike figure that Micky, along with the other guests, wouldn't be awake for a few more hours as yet.

Mike surveyed the rest of the house, and thankfully most of the mess had been reserved for the large lounge and Micky's huge kitchen. Mike decided to start cleaning up himself, realising it was going to take a while before the house started looking half-decent again.

Mike had been tidying up the kitchen for about an hour until it was in a decent enough state to get something to eat. Once Mike had eaten, he decided to take some of the trash bags outside. Just as he was about the leave the kitchen, a sleepy-looking Micky walked in.

It took Micky a few moments to realise Mike had cleaned up, and Mike felt anger and hurt boil inside of him from the moment he saw Micky's tired face.

"Hey, you didn't have to do all that." Micky looked around the room. "Did you clean up all by yourself?"

"Yes." Mike replied bluntly, and he went to push past Micky with the bags filled with rubbish.

"Hey, wait a second," Micky called after him. "Is something wrong?"

Mike glared at the younger man, who was now looking at him blankly.

"What's up?" Micky looked totally puzzled, and he approached Mike, reaching out to touch his arm.

Mike pulled away aggressively. "Don't touch me." He snapped in a whisper. "There's people in the next room."

"Calm down, everyone's asleep." Micky spoke quietly, looking really confused. "What's the matter with you? You didn't have to clean up, you know. I was gonna do it, and I'm sure the others can help out too."

Mike dropped the bags of trash onto the floor. "You do it then." He said bluntly, and then turned to walk out.

"Where are you going?" Micky asked after him.

"Out."

Mike left the house, taking off in his car. Mike did what he always did when he was angry, upset or annoyed - or all three - and spent the day driving around. Mike liked driving and being completely on his own. He felt like no one could touch him when he was out on the road. He liked that he could just drive anywhere he wanted and escape anything.

Mike found a little diner out of town, and he stopped there for some dinner. It was peaceful, and nobody disturbed him, which was just the way Mike liked it. Mike hit the road again, realising he couldn't stay away forever, and arrived home at about 8:30 that evening.

When Mike entered the house, it was in a much better state than when he'd left it. He was also pleased to find everyone else had gone home.

Mike walked into the kitchen where Micky was washing some dishes. As soon as Mike spotted Micky at the sink, Mike turned around to walk straight back out again.

"Hey, what's going on?" Micky grabbed a cloth, drying his hands and hurrying after Mike.

Mike didn't say anything, he just carried on back up the hallway.

Micky grabbed hold of Mike's arm, stopping him in his tracks and turning him to face him. "I'm talking to you."

Mike simply stared at Micky, giving him a disapproving look.

"Where have you been all day?" Micky questioned.

"Driving." Mike replied bluntly.

"What's the matter with you? You were weird with me this morning as well." Micky looked concerned. "Has something happened?"

"You tell me, Mick." Mike stared down at the younger man.

"What are you talking about?" Micky looked totally perplexed. "Have I done something wrong?"

Mike laughed sarcastically, shaking his head in disbelief.

"If you've got a problem with me, at least tell me what it is." Micky looked annoyed.

"I shouldn't have to spell it out for ya." Mike said bitterly. "You know damn well what's wrong."

Micky's face scrunched up in a confused frown. "Why don't you talk to me and tell me what it is?"

Mike tensed up, looking around nervously, worried that there might still be a few party-goers hiding in the woodwork.

"No one else is here." Micky assured him as if he'd read Mike's mind. "Everyone took off hours ago. They helped me get the place straight and left. Is that what the problem is, that the house was fucked up? Because it was a party, Mike. The place was hardly going to look pristine."

"You think that's what my problem is?" Mike swiped. "Are you really that stupid?"

"I don't understand!" Micky was getting frustrated. "I thought we had fun last night?"

"Well _you_ were sure having fun." Mike spat.

Micky sighed. "Are you pissed because I got drunk? Because from what I can remember, we fucked. We fucked! So you couldn't have been that mad at me."

"I can't believe you, Micky!" Mike threw his hands in the air in dismay, walking back into the kitchen.

"If you've got a problem with me, spit it out." Micky ordered, following Mike back into the room.

"What was the one thing I asked you? The _one_ thing?" Mike questioned.

"I-I don't remember." Micky looked stumped.

"I asked you to behave yourself. I asked you not to go too crazy. And what did you do, Micky?"

"Are you serious?!" Micky was incredulous. "It was my goddamn birthday! You're not my father, you can't tell me what I can and can't do! Is that seriously what you're mad about?!"

"You promised me you'd be good!" Mike raised his voice.

"_Be good _? How old do you think I am? I'm not one of your sons, Mike! What did you expect me to do? Are you seriously saying I'm not allowed to have a drink, is that it?!"

"It's not just that! It's how damn irresponsible you get what you're drunk, it's ridiculous! Maybe if you could control yourself a bit better I wouldn't have a problem!"

"And what about you controlling yourself, huh? You didn't seem to be controlling yourself when you were fucking me into next week!"

Mike stood face-to-face with Micky, glaring at him. "You pushed me too far, and that's totally different. You kept staring at me, giving me that look, winding me up. I did that to shut you up!"

"Oh and you didn't get a kick out of it at all, did you?" Micky swiped sarcastically. "Why don't you tell me what the _real_ problem is?"

"You! You staring at me all goddamn night like you wanted to rip my clothes off! And then there was that pill-"

"What pill?" Micky questioned.

"You were offered a pill, remember? Well that's what I saw anyway, I'm sure you must've taken somethin' when I weren't looking. The only reason you didn't take that pill was because you saw me watchin' ya. If I hadn't have been on your case you would've taken it, admit it."

"What the- what the hell, Mike?" Micky looked seriously stressed out and confused. "And that gives you a reason to go on at me like this, does it? I didn't take anything, Mike! I smoked a bit of weed and had a few too many drinks, big fucking deal! I didn't take anything else because I know you don't like it!"

"I don't want you not doin' it for me, I want you not doin' it for you." Mike said firmly, getting seriously wound up that Micky didn't seem to understand.

"There were loads of people doing god-knows what else and I don't see you having a problem with them." Micky snapped.

"I don't give a shit about anyone else, I only give a shit about you." Mike blurted out.

Micky was a little surprised by that comment, and he softened slightly. "But I didn't take anything. I swear to you. You're right when you say I should be more responsible and look after myself a bit better. I promise, I did take any pills. But even if I did, I don't think I deserve you hounding me like this. I haven't done anything wrong."

Mike shook his head, turning his back on the younger man. There were a series of things that had wound Mike up, but he was avoiding speaking of the biggest one of all.

"And I'm sorry if I kept looking at you like that." Micky sighed, pulling out a chair and slumping down. "I didn't realise I was doing it. But seriously, no one else would've noticed either."

"I noticed." Mike spoke low and quiet, his back towards Micky.

"I'm sorry. I was just- I don't know, I guess I was just so stoked that everyone was there having a good time, and that you were there too. I'm sorry." Micky sounded apologetic, realising his error.

"Whatever." Mike rubbed his head.

"Don't 'whatever' me." Micky sounded a little annoyed. "I'm trying to apologise here."

"And you think that's it, do you?" Mike turned to face Micky again, staring down at him. "You think that's all it takes?"

"What else do you want from me?" Micky looked totally perplexed by Mike's behaviour. "I understand why you're a little annoyed, but you're seriously overreacting."

"You're fucking clueless." Mike muttered, almost to himself but loud enough for Micky to hear.

"What the hell, man?" Micky stood up. "I said I'm sorry. I'm sorry I had a good time at my fucking birthday party, why don't you call the cops and have me locked up? Because this is obviously crime of the century."

"Don't mock me." Mike snapped, glaring at Micky.

"I don't get what your problem is, I don't get why you're acting like such a fucking dick." Micky almost looked defeated. "There's got to be more to it than that."

Mike scoffed, shaking his head and looking to the ceiling. "Whatever, Micky."

Micky frowned. "No, there's something else and I wanna know what it is."

"I'm done here." Mike turned to walk out, not wanting to admit the real reason he was so angry.

"No, if you've got something to say to me then just say it!" Micky shouted.

Mike turned around, facing Micky one more. "Did you sleep with her?" He blurted out.

"Wh-what?" Micky asked, totally confused. "Sleep with who?"

"You know full-well who!" Mike was getting angry again. "The blonde in the red dress, she had her hands all over you!"

"I didn't sleep with anyone." Micky replied honestly, finally catching on.

"But you wanted to though, didn't you?" Mike snapped. "What happened, did she pass out? Did _you_ pass out? Is that why you didn't have sex with her?"

"No! I didn't sleep with her because I didn't want to." Micky stressed.

"Bullshit. You were all over each other, grinding against each other while dancin', I thought you were going to start fucking in the middle of the room." Mike looked disgusted.

"Is that what this is about?" Micky questioned gently. "You're jealous?"

"I ain't jealous." Mike snapped defensively.

"Yes you are, why else would you be acting like this? Why didn't you just tell me that in the first place?" Micky gazed at Mike expectantly.

Mike felt embarrassed, and he started to get flustered. "Do what you like, I don't care."

"But you do though." Micky tilted his head to the side, his eyes soft and kind. "I didn't sleep with her. I don't- I don't even really remember dancing with her."

"Well it looked like you were enjoying it from where I was standin'." Mike said coldly.

"That's not fair, I was just dancing with her. You told me to act normal." Micky was hurt that Mike didn't seem to trust him. "You told me I needed to act like I normally would and be myself."

"Being yourself is picking up a different girl every other night." Mike spat.

"I haven't been with anyone else in weeks and you know it." Micky said in his defence. "You were there, you walked in the last time I was with a girl, you caught us on the couch. Then there was that chick in Vegas, but she hardly counted because- well, you know why. But that's it. There's not been anyone else since- since me and you started this...whatever this is. There's not been _anyone_ else."

Mike felt a little stupid, and he felt his pride take a beating for virtually admitting that he'd been jealous.

"But you miss pussy though, right? That's why you were all over that girl. I mean this must be some kind of a record for you." Mike wasn't about to let this go.

"For god's sake, I'm not that bad." Micky hit back. "I don't even get as many girls as everyone thinks I do. And for the record, no, no I don't 'miss pussy'. I haven't even fucking looked at another girl since this thing with you started."

Mike stood there feeling both comforted and defeated.

"For some reason, for whatever reason, I just want you." Micky sighed, sitting back down again. "And I'm sorry if I made you feel- if I made you feel however it is you feel, jealous or angry or whatever. I'm really sorry. I just like dancing, that's all. I get drunk, I dance with girls - that's what I do. I was just trying to be as normal as I possibly could be, but I stuffed up. _Again_."

Mike felt a little guilty as he could see how remorseful Micky looked.

"I stuffed up." Micky repeated, playing with his hands. "I don't blame you for not trusting me when I've been drinking, I know I do stupid shit. I don't blame you for worrying that I'm going to say something."

"It's not just that..." Mike said quietly, finally speaking again. "It...it ain't healthy."

Micky looked up, and he could see how uncomfortable Mike looked. "It was my birthday and I just wanted to have a good time." He said softly, looking down again. "But do you want to know the truth? I wanted everyone to leave. My perfect birthday would've been if no one else was there and me and you could've just sat down in front of the TV and ate the birthday cake my mom made me."

Micky looked down at the table-top, his cheeks a sweet shade of red. He looked a little embarrassed, but more than that he looked sad.

Mike felt shocked by Micky's admission, and he felt his insides do a little dance. Mike felt his anger and jealousy evaporate, and he stepped forward, pulling out a chair and sitting next to the curly haired man.

"Stupid, huh?" Micky scoffed, embarrassed.

Mike shook his head. "No..." He replied quietly. "Not at all, really."

Micky looked up. "I'm sorry I made you feel like shit, for whatever reason. I know you were hardly pumped about the party in the first place."

"I did really want you to have a good time, you know." Mike assured him. "I ain't trying to be some party-pooper. I just...I worry about ya."

"You need to learn to trust me." Micky looked Mike in the eye hard. "I know I do some silly things, but I'm really not that stupid."

"I know you ain't." Mike stressed, and he sighed, looking down awkwardly. "When I was back in Texas, I knew this guy, he weren't a friend or anythin', but he was a little older and I'd see him out sometimes. Anyway, he weren't big on drugs or booze or anythin' like that, but he'd experiment now and then. One mornin' his mom found him dead in a pool of his own vomit, he'd taken some bad pill and it killed him, just like that."

Mike looked up to see Micky watching him intently.

"That's why I worry when you go crazy." Mike continued. "And yeah, other people do it. But I don't care about other people."

"I'm sorry... I didn't know that." Micky replied sadly.

"Don't be sorry, it ain't like he was a friend of mine. But it taught me a lesson." Mike said firmly.

"I'm sorry, you must think I'm a total idiot." Micky wore a pained expression.

"That ain't quite what I think of ya." Mike managed to give Micky a small smile.

"Do you forgive me?" Micky asked in a small voice. "I promise, I didn't touch that girl. And I didn't want to, either."

Mike looked down. "It's alright... I mean, you can do what you want, really."

"I'd be mad if I thought you had been with someone else, too." Micky admitted a little sheepishly. "So I get why you're pissed."

"I got no right to be pissed though." Mike sounded defeated. "It ain't like I ever said you can't see anyone else."

"I don't want to see anyone else though." Micky awkwardly placed his hand on top of Mike's. "I mean it, I seriously do just want you."

"I don't know why." Mike confessed. "I treat you like a kid sometimes."

"Maybe it's because sometimes I act like one." Micky smiled. "And one thing I do remember clearly from last night was a moment in the office where you certainly didn't treat me like a kid..."

Mike cringed. "We should never have done that. It was too risky."

"But we didn't get caught. There was no way we could get caught - the door was locked. No one even knew we were in there" Micky assured him. "There was no harm done... except for maybe my conscience next time my mom comes to do my accounts..."

Mike stifled a laugh. "That ain't funny." He tried to say seriously.

"I'm not laughing!" Micky couldn't help but let out a little giggle. He then buried his face in the table. "Urgh, I'm going to have to scrub that desk to death before anyone uses it again."

Mike looked down, unable to stop the amused smile from spreading over his face. "You really are trouble, you know. We really shouldn't have done that."

Micky looked up. "Maybe it was dangerous, but it was fun, and it's done now. And like I said, no harm is done. Everyone was too wasted to give a shit about what we were doing. Thank god."

Mike sighed.

"I promise I won't look at you like that again though. At least not when there's people around, anyway." Micky reassured him. "I know a lot of it is exaggerated in your head, but... but I don't help matters. I just get carried away, you know what I'm-"

"I know what you're like, boy." Mike smiled. "A pain in my ass."

Micky giggled. "Actually, you're more a pain in my ass..."

Mike's face fell. "I didn't hurt you, did I? I know I went rather hard on you... I'm so sorry if I hurt you."

"Cool it, it's okay." Micky stressed. "I was fine, seriously. I loved it, and I can't pretend I didn't."

Mike's face flushed red, and he looked down once more. The pair of them were silent for a little while.

"I hope you had a good birthday." Mike said quietly, drawing circles on the table top.

"Well, me being me, I like to drag my birthday out for as long as possible. And considering this is still my birthday weekend, I still consider today to be my birthday." Micky begun. "And no birthday is complete until we've had some birthday cake."

Mike looked up, beaming at the curly haired man. "How old are you again?"

"Not too old to appreciate some of mother's good birthday cake, but old enough to appreciate other kinds of treats." Micky grinned from ear to ear. "So... will you help me spend the rest of my birthday the way I actually want to spend it?"

Mike smiled softly at his lover. "I'd like that." He replied.


	23. Chapter 23

Micky had learned a lot about himself over the past couple of weeks. Micky had dated many girls in the past, and had several girlfriends. The most serious relationship he'd had was with Samantha, but this 'thing' with Mike was completely different. In the past, Micky hadn't cared about labelling his relationships as relationships. Micky had never been particularly fussed about where he stood, or about where the girl stood. He wasn't bothered with discussing whether they were 'exclusive' or whether they might have a future together. It was all so casual and up-in-the-air, which was just the way Micky had liked it... until now.

Micky wondered constantly what Mike was thinking and feeling, to the point where it was almost an obsession. Micky was pleased that Mike had made it known he wasn't happy with the idea of Micky with another woman, even though he hadn't outright said that himself. There were so many questions Micky wanted to ask Mike, but he simply didn't dare. Not just because he was afraid of how Mike would react to the questioning, but because he was afraid of the answers.

Micky didn't allow himself to admit the true extent of his feelings for the Texan, although it was becoming harder and harder to ignore them every day. Micky knew it wouldn't be long until Mike's house was finished and he'd be moving back home, and that thought concerned Micky; Micky had no idea what would happen once Mike moved out again. Would it be over? Surely it couldn't possibly end just like that?

Things had been good the past several days. Micky and Mike made an effort to hang out as friends, enjoying each other's company the way they used to. More often than not, they would end up in bed together, but Micky certainly wasn't complaining about that. Micky found it strange how Mike could be so uncomfortable with talking about his feelings, yet be so comfortable with Micky in the bedroom. Mike would go down on Micky, and make love to Micky with no hesitation at all. It was becoming easier and more natural every time they did it. They felt in sync with each other, they worked well together. Physically and sexually they were completely compatible.

Micky knew things were hard for Mike, and truth was they were hard for Micky too. Micky still felt a little overwhelmed with how things had progressed, but he didn't regret it. Micky was happy with Mike, and although Mike didn't want to label what was going on with them, Micky _did_ view their 'thing' as a relationship. Micky didn't understand how it could be viewed any differently; they had admitted they cared about each other and wanted to be together, they were sleeping together and weren't seeing other people. If this wasn't a relationship, what was it?

So Micky decided not to put any pressure on Mike. He understood and respected that things for Mike were more complicated than they were for himself due to Mike's wife and children. Micky just hoped that things could continue the way they were going and maybe one day they would become totally solid and figure out exactly where they each stood.

But there was one final thing that Micky was intrigued about, and it was the one thing they hadn't done yet; Micky hadn't made love to Mike. Mike had fucked Micky several times now, and Micky enjoyed it more and more every time, to the point where Micky was beginning to admit to himself that it was the best sex he'd ever had - _by far_. That wasn't easy for Micky to accept at first, but he soon realised he couldn't deny it; the sex was great. Actually, it was absolutely _incredible_. Micky was completely in lust with Mike and the way Mike made him feel when they fucked, and Micky was beginning to wonder if and when he could return the favour.

Mike and Micky were in bed, and they had been fooling around for a while. Things had been good between them since Micky's party, and Micky was beginning to feel a little more confident around the Texan.

Neither of them were clothed, and Mike was on top of Micky under the covers. They had been kissing and cuddling for ages now, and things were starting to hot up. Micky loved Mike's ass, and he loved the way it felt in his hands. Micky groped Mike's pert backside as Mike sucked tenderly on Micky's neck, and Micky started to feel a little bolder. Micky moved his fingers between Mike's ass-cheeks, but Mike didn't seem to respond - he just carried on nibbling on Micky's neck, almost unaware of what Micky was preparing to do.

Micky took this as a positive sign, and that's when he made his next move by pressing his finger tip against Mike's entrance. That was when Mike reacted, and he leapt off of Micky as if he'd received an electric shock.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Mike gasped, leaping out of bed and dragging most of the covers with him.

Micky was mortified, and he suddenly felt totally embarrassed. "I-I was just-"

"I don't want_ that_, Micky!" Mike exclaimed. He didn't sound angry or annoyed - he just sounded surprised.

Mike wrapped the cover around his waist, covering his modesty. His cheeks were red and he looked really embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, I just thought you might like it." Micky said in his defence, his face flushing scarlet.

"I don't want anything _there_. I'm not like that." Mike looked incredibly uncomfortable.

"Not like what?" Micky questioned, sitting up. "Not_ gay_?"

Mike looked away.

"Neither am I, but I still enjoy it." Micky stressed. "Is that what the problem is?"

"No. I don't know." Mike scratched his head, looking confused and flustered.

"There's not, like, levels of gayness." Micky begun with a frown. "It's not like you suck a dick, you're a little bit gay. You fuck a man, you're a little bit more gay, and _being fucked_ by a man makes you _full_ gay. Because what we've done so far isn't exactly _straight._"

"I know that." Mike replied quietly.

Micky sighed, seeing how uncomfortable Mike looked. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that with no warning. I should've asked you first."

Mike still stood there looking a little shocked.

"It's just you make me feel so good and...well, I want to make you feel like that too." Micky admitted.

"You _do_ make me feel good. What we have is great." Mike assured him.

"I know, but... it's not the same." Micky sighed. "What I feel when- when, you know, when we're together like that, it's like nothing I've ever felt before. It's this feeling...I don't even know how to describe it. Nobody has ever made me feel like that before and no one ever will again, because I'm not ever going to be with another guy. And I just want to make you feel as good as you make me feel, really..."

Mike stared at Micky, and he could tell Micky was a little embarrassed.

"But I'm really sorry. That totally wasn't cool for me to just do that." Micky stressed. "I'm not trying to pressure you or anything. If you don't want to do it, or if you're not into it, then I totally get it. It's seriously cool, honestly."

"It's alright..." Mike suddenly felt a little embarrassed by his overreaction. "It just took me by surprise, that's all."

"I know, I'm sorry." Micky said again. "I just got caught in the moment. I know it's a big deal, it was a big deal to me when we first did it as well. It's really strange at first, but it just gets better and better. The more we do it, the better it is. I'm not trying to play it down, because it's a big step."

Mike watched Micky with a look of disbelief on his face. "How do you do it, Mick?"

Micky was confused with that question. "Er, well I don't do much really. I just sort of lay there and try to relax and-"

"No, no, I don't mean that." Mike corrected quickly. "I mean you just sort of adjust to everythin' so easily... I don't just mean the sex, but everything. You're so comfortable with me, talkin' to me like that. It's like this whole thing with us ain't anything out of the ordinary for you."

Micky smiled. "I have my moments." He replied. "If someone told me six weeks ago that I'd have sex with a man, I'd have laughed in their face. If someone told me that man would be _you_, then I wouldn't have found it so funny. And the truth is, this whole thing is still totally surreal to me; not just the sex, but everything. It's kinda like a dream or a fantasy. And sometimes it hits me that it's real and I feel a little freaked out, but then I stop feeling freaked out because I want this and it all feels so _right_."

Mike continued watching Micky, looking down at the curly haired man on the bed with intent.

"I've felt what I feel about you for such a long time, and although I pretended to myself that it didn't matter, I guess on some level I was dealing with it, coming to terms with it... I don't know." Micky continued. "Maybe that's why now we're here like this it doesn't feel crazy or weird. Well, it does feel kinda crazy, but in a good way. I know the risks and I know it's so far from simple, but I don't really care."

Mike nodded his head slowly.

"And as for the sex," Micky went on. "Well, that feels too good to not be normal. At first it was a little surreal that I was having sex with a man, but now it just feels normal and right. How can anything that feels so good be wrong? And I'm not ashamed to admit that now. I can hardly deny I enjoy it, I mean, you're there when we do it. You know we're both having a damn good time."

Mike both envied and admired Micky and his way of thinking. Mike smiled at the younger man, nodding his head slowly in agreement - even though he didn't feel exactly the same. Although Mike felt good with Micky, and although it felt right, Mike still struggled with their 'thing' daily, and he constantly faced an inner battle with himself. Another part of Mike was always reminding him of the damage it would cause if it got out, and that was the main thing that made Mike feel so uneasy on a daily basis - he'd just learned to ignore it for the most part and enjoy being with Micky. But it was always there in the back of his head, like a black cloud threatening rain. One day the skies would open and he would have to deal with this situation properly. Mike didn't dare to think of when that day might come.

"I'm sorry I overreacted." Mike finally said, referring to the earlier incident. "It really did just take me by surprise."

"I know, I'm sorry I killed the mood." Micky sighed. "I'm really not trying to pressure you. I'm more than satisfied with the way things are."

"Good." Mike smiled, stepping forward and sitting back down on the bed. "Because you deserve to be satisfied."

"Well you sure satisfy me." Micky smirked, biting his bottom lip.

Mike leaned forward, pressing his lips to Micky's. He pulled backed, gazing at Micky lovingly. "Do you want to get this show back on the road?"

Micky nodded his head like an excited school boy. "Yes please."

* * *

Mike spent the following day with his children, but they weren't spending the night this week. The boys were originally meant to be staying, but Mike's estranged wife changed the plans at the last minute. Micky had been out all day riding electric Go-Carts with his friends, and it was early evening by the time he got home.

When Micky arrived he found the house in total darkness. It was only when he headed upstairs that he found Mike in his room, lying on his bed fully clothed, doing absolutely nothing.

"Hey," Micky called quietly as he pushed open Mike's bedroom door. "What are you doing here in the quiet?"

"Just thinking." Mike shrugged his shoulders.

"Are the kids in bed?" Micky pushed the door closed behind him.

Mike shook his head. "No, they went home. Phyllis wanted them back for some reason."

Micky's face fell. "She can't do that."

"She can do what she wants." Mike sighed. "It ain't no problem."

Micky sat himself on the edge of the bed. "So why are you up here all on your own like this then?"

"I just felt like it." Mike replied quietly.

Micky stared at his lover, and it was obvious Mike was far from fine.

"You had a good day though?" Micky questioned.

Mike nodded his head. "Yeah, did you?"

"Yeah, it was a lot of fun. You should come next time." Micky suggested.

Mike forced a smile. "Maybe."

Silence fell upon the room.

Micky squeezed the bottom of Mike's leg in a comforting manner. "Are you going to tell me what's up?"

Mike took a deep breath. "I don't really want to." He replied quietly, looking down.

Micky felt concern watching Mike. Mike looked completely deflated and Micky didn't like it.

"I'm not going to nag you like I normally do." Micky begun slowly. "But you know you can talk to me, don't you?"

Mike looked up. He looked at Micky almost longingly, like he was completely torn over whether to confide in the younger man or not.

Micky looked down. "I wish I knew what you were thinking." He admitted quietly. "Sometimes I look at you and it's like you're not even here. It's like you've drifted a million miles away and no one can get to you."

"Maybe that's the best way." Mike replied, picking at his fingernail.

Micky looked up at him. "I don't want you to feel alone, because you're not. You've got me... for all the good it does."

Mike gazed at Micky, but he didn't speak.

"Is it because the boys left early?" Micky wondered.

"No... not exactly." Mike looked down again. "You won't understand... When you have children, all you want is for them to be proud of you."

"And you don't think your boys will be proud of you?" Micky questioned. Mike simply looked at Micky, silently answering his question. "That's stupid, Mike. Your kids have so much to be proud of. Think of everything you've achieved. You're so talented, you write songs that they really dig. You always spoke about how much Christian loved watching our show. Why the hell wouldn't they be proud of you?"

Mike picked at his fingernail again. "I've done things they'll be ashamed of." He muttered quietly.

"You had an affair, but loads of other people have affairs too." Micky said confidently. "It doesn't make you a bad person or a bad dad just because you made a mistake."

"It ain't just that..." Mike mumbled.

Micky caught on. "Us? You think they'd be ashamed about us?"

Mike looked up. "What would they think of me if they knew what we'd been doing?" He asked sadly.

"Well, for a start, they're not old enough to understand anything yet." Micky begun. "And when they _are_ old enough to understand, they _will_ understand, because you're gonna bring 'em up right. You're going to bring them up to be respectful of people from all walks of life. You're going to teach them that if a man wants to be with another man, or a woman wants to be with another woman, then that's okay. That it's normal and it's not wrong or weird or anything like that. They will understand because you'll _make_ them understand."

"You make it sound so easy." Mike said in a small voice, staring at Micky.

"Well maybe it isn't easy, but maybe it won't be so hard either." Micky continued. "Times are changing, it's like what I said before. Things are happening, man... the world is getting better and it's only going to get better as the years go by. We're the first generation that's doing something, embracing the change, accepting, understanding... and your kids, your kids are the next generation. They're the future. They're the ones who are going to live in a better world. Who knows what's going to happen in 10, 20 years time? Homosexuality isn't illegal anymore. Who knows what things will be like when your kids are our age?"

Micky spoke so passionately that Mike almost believed what he said. Micky had such positivity, such an optimism that it was hard to imagine he could possibly be wrong.

"Do you really believe that?" Mike asked hopefully, staring at Micky intently.

The way Mike asked the question unsettled Micky because for once, Mike was looking to Micky for reassurance. Mike looked at Micky with an almost pained expression, as if Micky had all the answers. It threw Micky to see Mike so vulnerable, but the question Mike asked was one Micky rarely dared ask himself.

"I-I _have_ to believe it." Micky replied honestly, smiling sadly. "And I do understand how you feel. I know I don't have kids, but I have little sisters. I would die for those girls and I'd never, ever want them to have any reason to be ashamed of their big brother."

Mike nodded his head, and he looked down sadly.

"But they're not going to find out." Micky assured Mike with determination. "_No one_ is going to find out. We have control over this. If anyone ever knows, it'll be because we want them to. We can trust each other."

Mike remained silent, looking down thoughtfully.

"You do trust me, don't you?" Micky questioned.

Mike looked up. "Of course I do."

Micky smiled. "Good. Because we're in this thing together, you and me. And no one is gonna hurt us."

Mike nodded his head in agreement.

"So I want you to turn that frown upside down." Micky tilted his head as he gazed at Mike.

Mike couldn't help but smile. "I don't know how you manage to be so positive all the time."

Micky's face softened. "What's the point of being anything else? If it's going to rain it'll rain, but there's no point worrying about a storm that might never come."

"You're a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for." Mike said seriously, looking at Micky in wonder.

Micky's face fell slightly. "You think I live in la-la land."

"It seems nicer there." Mike smiled.

Mike shuffled down the bed far enough so that he could lean forward and kiss Micky on the lips. He touched Micky's face lightly as he kissed him, and he pulled back to gaze at the curly haired man.

"Please don't be sad." Micky told Mike in a small voice, his eyes soft and kind.

"I feel better now." Mike assured Micky. And it was true; for now, Mike did feel comforted.

Micky's mouth curled up at the sides.

"Come to bed." Mike ordered gently.

"I'm going to jump in the shower real quick, brush my teeth, and then I'll be with you." Micky replied. "I'm a bit of a mess from Go-Carting. It was really fun, please come with us next time, you'd really dig it. I did crash though... I think my shin is going to be pretty bruised tomorrow."

Mike frowned. "You need to be more careful."

"It's my stupid fault; I go too fast around corners." Micky laughed. "It really hurt, but it was pretty funny too."

"Stupid boy." Mike run his fingers through Micky's curls. "Go shower then, and come to bed with me."

Micky's face lit up. He leaned forward and kissed Mike on the lips once more. "I won't be long."

Micky was only 15 minutes or so before he returned to Mike's room. Mike was now in bed waiting patiently for Micky, and he smiled when the younger man entered the room.

"Did you lock the house up when you came in?" Mike questioned.

"Of course I did." Micky reassured him, pulling back the covers and climbing in bed beside the Texan. "We're safely locked away."

Mike smiled in response. Micky laid on his side facing Mike, and he leaned over him to kiss him gently on the lips.

Mike melted away into Micky's sweet kisses, gentle little kisses on the lips that were so soft and tender. Mike wrapped his arms around Micky, pulling the slightly shorter man on top of him, and Mike run his hands down Micky's smooth, naked back.

"You smell so good." Mike sniffed the curly head of hair as Micky turned his attention to Mike's neck. "You smell delicious."

Micky smiled in to Mike's skin, lifting his head to beam down at Mike. "You don't smell so bad yourself."

Mike fingered Micky's curls that were still slightly damp from the shower. "Oranges. You always smell like oranges."

Micky grinned, and he gave Mike an Eskimo kiss, rubbing his nose against the Texan's lovingly. "So whenever you smell oranges, you'll think of me?"

"Yeah, because they're firm and round too," Mike begun as he slid his hands down to Micky's backside. "Just like this." Mike drove his point home by giving Micky's bum a firm squeeze.

"Hey!" Micky giggled, slapping Mike playfully. "Leave my ass alone."

Mike smiled up at Micky. "You don't mean that."

Micky shook his head with a grin. "No, I don't. But your ass is better than mine. The amount of times I've almost lost time sitting behind that drum kit with your ass in front of me, distracting me... I've always thought it was a freak of nature. You're so long and skinny and you have no meat on your bones apart from this really great ass that pokes out. Damn... I love that butt."

Mike's cheeks went a little red, but he smiled at the bizarre compliment. "Thanks... I think."

"Wow. I think that's the first time you've ever accepted a compliment from me." Micky looked genuinely surprised.

Mike's cheeks flushed a little redder, and he turned serious. He opened his mouth slightly to speak, but nothing seemed to come out.

Micky tilted his head to the side, looking down at Mike curiously. "What?"

Mike's face wore an expression that Micky couldn't read. He no longer looked amused, but he looked neither happy nor sad. Mike looked nervous.

"What is it?" Micky asked again softly, brushing Mike's hair out of his face.

Mike opened his mouth to speak again, and the words took a little while before they exited his lips. "Can we do something... new?"

Micky frowned in confusion, failing to understand what Mike meant. "What do you mean?"

Mike's breath almost got caught in his throat. "Can you... can you... Can we..."

Mike trailed off, not knowing the exact words to use. One term sounded too cheap and meaningless, whereas the other sounded too serious and real.

Micky caught on - or at least he thought he did. He was pretty sure he knew what Mike meant. "You mean you want us to...?"

Mike nodded his head.

"But-But before you said you didn't want to do that." Micky suddenly felt a little nervous.

"I've changed my mind." Mike said seriously.

"Are you sure?" Micky questioned. "I don't... I don't want you to feel like you have to."

"I don't. I _want_ to." Mike said with certainty.

Micky gulped, suddenly feeling tremendous pressure. Micky felt he'd built it up to Mike, telling Mike how good it made himself feel... but what if Micky couldn't make Mike feel the same?

"Don't think about it too much." Mike told Micky, and Micky was shocked - it was as if Mike had literally just read his mind. "Just do it."

Micky nodded slowly, and he gazed at Mike, suddenly feeling excited. "I'm going to make you feel so good." Micky promised.

Mike wrapped his arms around Micky's neck, pulling him down into a passionate kiss.

The two of them kissed for ages, and they explored each other with their hands and mouths. Micky was determined to get Mike feeling relaxed and aroused, as he wanted this to be as good as possible for the Texan.

They rolled on to their sides so they were face to face, and they stripped each other of their underwear. Micky broke this kiss, knowing it was time for the next step, and he sucked his finger into his mouth. Mike watched Micky closely as Micky coated his finger with saliva, and he felt nervous about what was going to happen next.

"You've never...you've never had anything up there before?" Micky questioned.

Mike shook his head.

"Okay. It's gonna feel kinda weird, but try to relax." Micky found it totally bizarre that he was instructing someone on the stages of gay sex, but he went with it.

Micky moved his finger between Mike's cheeks, and he pressed it against Mike's opening. Micky's heart started to race, and he tried to think of it like fingering a girl - although that seemed to be in vain.

Micky pushed his finger inside Mike, watching Mike's face closely as it twisted into a small frown. Surprisingly, Mike didn't tense up as much as Micky expected.

Micky started kissing Mike again slowly, pushing his finger right the way in the older man. Micky couldn't believe how tight Mike felt, and Mike found the sensation totally alien and odd - although it wasn't necessarily bad.

Micky removed his finger and he rolled Mike onto his back, climbing on top of him. Mike wrapped his legs around Micky, and Micky pushed his finger inside Mike once more. Mike was a little tenser this time as Micky went deeper, and Micky circled his finger inside the Texan, trying to stretch his inner-walls. Micky continued to kiss Mike, and he moved to his neck, sucking it gently as he inserted another finger. Mike tensed up even more, and Micky felt like his fingers were in a vice. He wondered how on earth he would get his dick inside of Mike like this.

"Relax..." Micky breathed into Mike's skin.

Mike couldn't help it - it felt totally weird. He didn't find it overly painful, it was just very strange.

Micky curled his fingers inside Mike, and he brushed against something that made Mike's body jolt. _"Bingo."_ Micky thought, pleased that he'd found his target and that Mike had responded positively to it. Micky repeated the action, and Mike even let out a small moan.

"It's gonna feel even better when I'm properly inside of you." Micky assured Mike, who was now wearing a look of surprise.

Mike found it fascinating, as he'd always wondered what Micky was experiencing when they made love. He was both anxious and intrigued to experience it firsthand.

Micky pulled his fingers out, and he pushed Mike's legs up even further. Mike actually found the position he was in, with his long legs pushed up, more uncomfortable than the fingers that had just been inside him.

Micky thought of something else they hadn't done before, and it was something he could imagine feeling really good. So Micky decided to try it in an attempt to give Mike maximum pleasure and make him feel as good as possible.

Micky grabbed hold of the pillow from the other side of the bed and he gestured for Mike to raise his hips. Mike did as instructed, and Micky slid the pillow underneath him to raise his butt in the air. Micky then pushed Mike's legs back once more, pushing them up as far as they could go so that Micky had a clear view of his target.

Micky groped Mike's ass, a cheek in each hand, and he pulled them apart, exposing that puckered opening. Mike felt horribly exposed at the treatment, but he didn't have time to protest before Micky buried his face between those perfect bum-cheeks, and he pushed his tongue inside Mike as far as it would go.

Mike found the feeling of Micky's tongue instantly pleasurable. It was wet and warm and soft, and it felt nice circling his entrance that was still feeling a little vulnerable from having Micky's fingers inside. Mike found himself getting hard at the treatment, and his heart started to race as he wondered just how good things were going to get.

Mike admired Micky's bravery for taking charge and trying something totally new. Mike imagined Micky must've been good at giving oral sex to women with the way his tongue was working his entrance, and Mike found himself relaxing and trusting Micky more than he could recall trusting anyone before.

Micky did this for a few minutes, realising that the fact Mike hadn't stopped him must've been a good sign. When Micky emerged, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and he looked at Mike's flushed face.

"Was that okay?" Micky questioned, biting his lip nervously.

Mike gulped, nodding his head.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Micky asked once more. "It's not too late to back out. I just wanna make sure you're sure."

"I am." Mike assured him. "I want it."

Micky made love to Mike. Mike had coated Micky's length in Vaseline before he entered the Texan. Micky was gentle and slow and Mike found himself adjust to the sensation much quicker than he thought he would. Micky was surprised with how well Mike took to it, and it wasn't long before Mike's initial pain and discomfort was replaced with a pleasure he didn't even know existed. Micky, having experienced being on the receiving end, had picked up a few tricks to making Mike relax and enhancing Mike's pleasure to the maximum effect, and he seemed to do a pretty good job of it.

Micky stroked Mike's erection as he penetrated him, and Micky made sure he pressed against that spot inside Mike enough times to make Mike moan and writhe in pleasure. Micky felt proud that he was making Mike feel the same way as Mike made him feel. Micky wondered if his own penis being a bit smaller than Mike's made Mike's satisfaction stronger or less so, but either way Mike didn't seem to be complaining, and they reached their orgasms at the same time; Mike spilling on to his stomach, and Micky deep inside his lover.

Micky cleaned Mike up as soon as they had finished, knowing that Mike wasn't big on mess. Micky kissed Mike gently on the lips, lying down beside him. They laid face-to-face, Micky taking hold of Mike's hand and lacing their fingers together.

"Are you okay?" Micky asked quietly after several moments silence.

Mike nodded, gazing at Micky through the darkness.

"Did you like it..?" Micky asked nervously.

Mike nodded again sleepily. "What do you think?"

"It gets better, you know, the more you do it." Micky begun quietly. "Not that we have to do it again if you don't want to."

"I'm fine, Micky." Mike smiled at him, putting Micky's mind at rest.

"Good." Micky stroked Mike's hand. "And if you feel uncomfortable...well, that'll go soon."

"Was it good for you too?" Mike wondered.

"Are you kidding? It was amazing. _You_ felt amazing." Micky replied.

Mike smiled lazily, and the two of them gazed at each other.

"Thank you...for trusting me enough to do it." Micky said quietly.

"You don't have to thank me."

The two of them laid lazily in the peace and darkness for several minutes.

"It's so quiet." Micky whispered.

Mike nodded. "It's nice."

"In our own little world." Micky smiled.

Mike wore a serious expression. "Do you ever feel like, somehow, people know about us?" He asked quietly.

"I did at first." Micky replied after a short pause. "After we first kissed, I felt like people knew. Like I was giving off this vibe or something. If you'd have talked to me in the beginning, you would have known that."

"Sorry." Mike whispered regretfully.

"Don't be sorry." Micky carried on playing with Mike's hand, caressing it gently. "But yeah, I did feel like that... but then I realised it was stupid, because the only people that know are us."

"Sometimes I feel like everyone's lookin' at me." Mike confessed.

"If people are looking at you, it'll either be because they recognise you or they're wondering who this tall, dark, handsome stranger is." Micky reassured him. "You're pretty easy to look at."

"So you think I'm paranoid." Mike stated, though not in an accusing way.

"We're all paranoid sometimes." Micky admitted. "But I suppose it's easy to be paranoid when you keep a secret."

Mike nodded in agreement.

"I thought you didn't care about what people thought, anyway." Micky watched Mike intently.

"It don't mean I want anyone knowin' about our business." Mike replied. "And there's a few people I care about though, about what they think. You though, I know you care about what _everyone_ thinks of ya."

Micky moved closer to Mike, and Mike opened his arms out to Micky so the curly haired man could rest his head on Mike's chest.

"It might not always be like this though." Micky said quietly after a few moments reflection. Mike remained silent, his hand losing itself in Micky's mass of curls. "Maybe one day we won't have to keep it a secret. Maybe if people _did_ know, it wouldn't be as bad as you think it would."

Micky spoke soft and quiet and the tone of his voice sounded so hopeful and optimistic. Mike's heart fell a little as Micky started to speak, and Mike sensed that Micky hadn't finished.

"You know, I think the people closest to us would understand," Micky continued in that same hopeful tone that both melted Mike's heart and caused it to race in concern. "If they knew we were happy, I think they'd get it. Maybe our fans, too. They might support us. I'm not-I'm not saying we should tell anyone. I'm just saying you never know what the future might bring. Things might not turn out as bad as we think they might, if this wasn't a secret anymore..."

Micky speaking about the future, and the possibility of people knowing about them, disturbed Mike. Micky spoke like a child sure that he would find gold at the end of the rainbow. And while Mike admired Micky's optimism, he knew that it wouldn't be as easy as Micky made out. Mike knew that there would always be someone making comments about them, or looking down at them - and that was just the people that _didn't_ matter. While Mike was sure he himself could deal with that, he wasn't so sure about Micky and his sensitive nature.

Mike was unsettled by Micky's blind-optimism, and the fact that Micky had even _thought_ about these sorts of things scared Mike even more. Micky was thinking about a future with them _together_. Micky was thinking of a future where they might tell people about their 'relationship'. Micky clearly believed this _was_ a relationship, and it was a relationship _with_ a _future_. Micky was getting in too deep. Mike had feared this would happen, that Micky would get a bit too carried away, and now his fears were being realised.

Micky cuddled closer to Mike, and Mike could feel that Micky was smiling. "You never know..." Micky said lazily, on the brink of sleep.

Mike held Micky a little tighter, and he kissed the top of Micky's head. Micky melted into Mike's arms, and he drifted sweetly into the place between asleep and awake.

"_I love you_." Micky whispered into Mike's skin.

Micky's breathing steadied, and he fell fast asleep, his body rising and falling gently with every sleep-filled breath.

Mike's blood run cold. His breath got caught in his throat as if a ghost had just walked through the bedroom. He froze rigid, wondering if he'd imagined those three little words passing his lover's lips. Mike lifted his head just enough to look at Micky, and there he was, asleep soundly with Mike's chest as a pillow.

Mike wanted to cry. He felt more touched, more flattered and more warmth inside than he'd ever known. Mike wondered if Micky meant it; he was practically asleep when he said it, and would probably have no recollection of it in the morning. But Mike _knew_ Micky meant it. There had been a few warning signs Mike could recall, little things that Micky had said that set alarm bells ringing. Mike ignored them, and he believed now that he selfishly ignored them, putting his own enjoyment of being with Micky before what was best for Micky himself.

Micky _was_ in too deep. It never should have gotten as far as this, and Mike felt his heart shatter in his chest. There was no way he'd be able to give Micky what Micky _truly_ wanted. Micky deserved more than being kept a secret, having to hide away like he was something to be ashamed of. Micky's honest and open nature would have to be stifled, flattened, stomped down and contained, and Mike believed Micky was worth a thousand times more than that.

That was the best case scenario, as bad as that would be for Micky also. The worst case would be people finding out and not being as accepting and understanding as Micky wished. Mike believed in his heart of hearts that Micky wouldn't be able to cope with disapproving eyes, the potential of being disowned by people close to him, and losing the career he'd worked hard for since he was little boy. Mike felt like he would be able to deal with it, but Micky? Micky deserved more than that.

Mike didn't want to put Micky in a situation where he would potentially be made to suffer. Mike wasn't good enough for Micky to risk his happiness for. Micky was so much better than Mike, and so much more than Mike had to offer.

Mike didn't want to let Micky go, but he knew he had to. Deep down he'd known all along.

Mike had to protect the boy he loved, even if it broke his heart.


End file.
